LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyright No. 

Shelf 7fl8j6 

t$o\ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

9—404 



OLD ACE, AND OTHER POEMS 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/oldaceotherpoemsOObroo 




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OLD 




AND 

OmER 
POEMS 

byhed 

ESerson 
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FORBES £ 
COMPANY 
BOSTON S 
CMICAGO 



Library of Congress 

Twu Copies Received 
DEC 24 1900 

Cot/j-J^nl entry 
iNo.^.^./.^.i?.. 

SECOND COPY 

delivered to 

ORDER DIVISION 
■■IAN 10 1901 



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Copyright, 1894, by 
THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. 



All rights reserved. 



Copyright igoo, by 
FORBES & COMPANY 



(To 

GENERAL DANIEL BUTTERFIELD 

as a slight tribute to his 

personal friendship 

this modest volume is respectfully inscribed by 

The Author. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGB 

Old Ace, i 

The Swing, 5 

Uncle Eph's Heaven, 12 

" Palestine," 15 

Don't you Think so, Bill ? . . . . . .19 

Pat's Confederate Pig, 23 

Little Ned's Wagon, ....... 26 

Foreign Views of the Statue, 30 

Little Tim's Tobacco, 33 

" The Remainder of the Year I " .... 35 

Sherman's March 37 

The Orthodox Team 41 

Old Glory, 44 

Nancy Hanks 46 

Crazy Vet, 49 

Pretty Maid of San Jos£, 51 

The Jealous Wife, 53 

" Birds of a Feather," 57 

The Pastor's Wooing, 59 

Foreigners at the Fair, 62 

The Miracle of Cana, 64 

The Miller's Maid, 66 

The California Flea, 68 

The Funeral of the Mountains, .... 73 

Jennie, 75 

Shall Bess Come Hame ? 76 

Barefooted after the Cows, 81 

The Frog and the Frenchman, 84 

Three Lullabys, 87 

The New Baby, 88 

Lullaby, 90 

The Wasp at Camp Meeting, 91 

Mother, 95 

Liberty Enlightening the World, .... 97 

Pat's Opinion of Flags, 98 

The Skeleton, 10a 



vi CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Ensign, 104 

Guns, 107 

Dame Nature's Crazy Quilt i?i 

Yosemite, 113 

Silly Billy, . 116 

The Ferry, 119 

The Deacon and the June Bug, 120 

With the Boys, 124 

Santa Claus, 126 

The Sheriff of Cerro-Gordo, . . . . . 129 

" Oh, Yeh-yus ! " 134 

Uncle Ezra's Story, 136 

A Woman's Pocket, 142 

iThe Little Church of Hamilton Square, . . 144 

Barnyard Melodies, 145 

John Maynard, 148 

Murphy's Donkey, 151 

The Two Knights, 154 

Italio, . 160 

The Ghost of an Old Continental, .... 162 

The Grand Canyon of the Colorado, .... 167 

The Dead Regiments, 167 

Elsie Adair, 168 

Stuttering Bill on the Hen, 169 

Mrs. Flanders, ......... 171 

Old Eagle, 173 

The Brogue I Brought Over the Ocean, . . . 175 

Paddy Moore, 177 

" Said I," 180 

Watchin' the Sparkin' 182 

I The Golden Gate, 184 

' The Pretty Colleen, 185 

When One Heart Beats for Two, 186 

You're Another, . . . . . . . . 187 

The Tramp and the Cur, 188 

Little Etta's Colored Boy, ..... 192 

Kissing, 194 

Why Rosy Lips Were Made, 196 

Cupid Went A-Courting, 197 

Any Kisses With the Roses ? 199 

I Love My Love, 200 

Christ Blessing Little Children, . . . . 201 

Prince and Serf, 202 

Victoria, 203 

Index, 207 



OLD ACE, AND OTHER POEMS 



OLD ACE. 

Can any pleasure in life compare 
With a charming drive in the balmy air? 
A buggy light with shimmering wheel ; 
Springs whose resistance you barely feel ; 
A spirited horse of royal breed, 
With just a little more style and speed 
Than any you meet, and it matters not 
If his gait be pace or a swinging trot. 

The tassel sways on the graceful whip ; 
You grasp the reins with a tighter grip ; 
Your horse is off for a splendid dash 
And needs no touch of the urging lash. 
You feel the puff of the startled air ; 
It floats his mane and it lifts your hair ! 
The hoof marks time with its measured beat, 
For the singing nostril that scorns defeat! 

One glorious day in the balmy spring 
John Dorr was out with his new horse, King. 
Though both were rich, it was his design 
To buy him a faster horse than mine. 
By his side the sweetest girl in the town, 
Of handsome features and eyes so brown, 



OLD ACE. 

That gazing in where the lashes curled 
Was like a view of another world, 
Where the angel lives and the angel sings ; 
And she was one that had dropped her wings 
And come to earth just to let man see 
How sweet the angels in heaven may be ! 
I envied the breeze its constant bliss 
Of passing her cheek and stealing a kiss ! 

I loved the girl when we both were young, 
But getting older I'd lost my tongue. 
I learned in college Latin and Greek, 
But Cupid's language I could not speak ; 
While Jack was perfect in Cupid's art, 
The only language he knew by heart. 
I envied John in his ride that day — 
And jogged old Spot in a leisure way — 
That-two mile drive to the sulphur spring, 
To test the speed of his new horse, King. 

John took the lead and it touched his pride ; 
For the fastest horse and the fairest bride 
Had been his boast ! Did I pass him by ? 
My heart, I reckon, could answer why — 
I'm almost certain I lost the race 
By lagging behind to look at Grace ! 

Jack seemed more proud of his horse that day 
Than he was of Grace, which made me say : 
" Be sure of your game before you boast ; 
From dead defeat there may rise a ghost ! 
I'll race you back to the town," said I, 
" For Gracie's glove ! " But he made reply : 
" What use to you is the senseless glove 
From the soft white hand of the girl I love ? 



OLD ACE. 3 

Suppose you win," he laughed in my face, 
" You ' get the mitten ' and I get Grace ! " 
Said I : " No trophy would I so prize " — 
And I caught a look from her soft brown eyes 
That drove the rest of it out of my head — 
I don't remember just what I said ! 

John laughed away till his eyes were wet : 
" Increase the wager ; I'll take the bet ! " 

" My glove," said Grace, " and the hand within, 
Shall be the prize of the one to win ! " 

I looked at John, but he didn't chaff, 
He didn't smile and he didn't laugh ! 
" Must I then race you for such a bride," 
Said John, " and carry the load beside ? " 

"I'll carry," said I, " the precious load ! " 

Her bright eye flashed and her fair cheek glowed ! 

She took her seat with little ado; 

I tucked the robe and my heart in too ! 

Said I, " Old Spot ! " as I stroked his neck, 

And rubbed his nose and loosened his check, 

" She's Bob's own Grace if you do your best ! " 

He pricked his ears just as if he guessed 

The time had come when his master's need 

Had staked all happiness on his speed. 

When all was ready Grace shouted " Go ! " 
A word both horses seemed to know. 
You heard the hoof with its measured sway 
Pacing along the great highway. 
You saw the swell of the panting side, 
The pink that glows in the nostril wide. 



OLD ACE. 

I knew old Spot, if he kept that pace, 
Would win my choice of the human race. 
No word was spoken between us two ; 
The tongue is silent when hope is new, 
A mile, a mile and a-half we sped, 
And still old Spot was a neck ahead. 

Jack touched his horse with the tasseled whip ; 
Then Gracie, pursing her rosy lip, 
Uttered a sound like a lover's kiss ; 

— pss — ! pss — ss ! — 
The world is ruled by a sound like this ! 
To urge a horse a capital plan, 
And often used to encourage man, 
But she never dreamed she had let me in 
To her heart's fond wish that I should win. 

The only time in the race she spoke 
Was when, over-urged, Jack's trotter broke : 
" He's running his horse and that's not fair ! " 
Then, blushing up to her auburn hair, 
She grabbed the whip from my willing hand — 
A move that Jack seemed to understand — 
For she raised it high as much as to say, 
Well, running's a game that two can play ! 
So he brought him down to an honest trot, 
But couldn't keep up with dear old Spot, 
Who forged ahead when he saw the whip 
And passed the stake with never a skip. 

On through the village he kept his speed, 
For I was too happy to mind the steed ; 
He would not stop when the race was done, 
But started home with the prize he'd won ! 



THE SWING. 



Nor stopped till he'd reached the farmhouse gate, 
Where good old mother was sure to wait. 
She heard the story, while tears of joy 
Baptized the love of her only boy ! 

I won the prize and I've got her yet ! 
But the kiss she gave I'll never forget ; 
'Twas like an awakening after death, 
By the soft caress of an angel's breath ! 
It seemed, as I felt her arms entwine, 
No other heaven quite equaled mine. 

I know the horse is a trifle old, 

But you can't buy him with all your gold ! 

My Gracie loves him and pats his neck, 

And says he's the best card in the deck ! 

And rubs his nose till he kisses her face ; 

She has changed his name to dear old Ace ! 

And smiling says : " It's the proper thing, 

For it takes the Ace to beat the King ! " 

As she purses her lips for the well-known smack 

I'm glad the Queen didn't take the Jack ! 



THE SWING. 

GOOD Daniel was a thrifty farmer's son ; 
A generous gift, since nature gave but one. 

Of manly form, to hardihood inured, 
While modesty his better worth obscured. 

How much he loved fair Ellen Gray, ah, well ! 
He hardly dared to think, much less to tell. 



THE SWING. 



'Twas such a love as only burns, forsooth, 
Deep in the bosom of some bashful youth. 

In other things no braver man than he, 

But Cupid locked his breast and lost the key ; 

But had his feelings ever taken word, 

These are the musings Ellen might have heard : 

" What can be fairer than the rose full blown 
That lives within a fragrance all its own ; 

" As though its velvet cheek some virtue knew 
To blush at clinging kiss of ardent dew ! 

" And yet, in spite of all the poets sing, 
The rose is but a dumb and senseless thing, 

" Whose blushing beauty never can compare 
With thine, fair Ellen of the golden hair ! 

" Such loveliness as thine must ever be 
Its own excuse for man's idolatry ! 

" With love of all the world thou'rt surely blest, 
For mine, so great, makes up for all the rest. 

" Were I the breeze, I'd steal on holy ground, 
Nor hasten past, but eddying round and round, 

" In one eternal kiss upon thy cheek, 
Breathe out devotion that I could not speak." 

The more one loves the less he has to say ; 
And Dan was speechless, loving Ellen Gray. 

Not so the gushing swell, Fitz-Potter-Brown, 
Who summered there, and wintered in the town 



THE SWING. 



And gave his ancestors a doubtful fame 
By tacking them with hyphens to his name. 

He had the gift of speech, if not the art, 
And occupied her time, if not her heart ; 

Esteemed a catch, if anyone could get him ; 
Could compliment when his conceit would let him. 

He dressed in that extreme which fashion shows 
When one's ambition is to air his clothes : 

As over-blossoming trees bear little fruit, 
The lesser man affects the louder suit. 

'Twas at a country picnic in the wood ; 
Fitz-Potter came, since Ellen said he could. 

Where giant elms their lofty branches fling, 
There Dan had fixed the good old-fashioned swing, 

While tiny sweethearts in brief calico 
Waited their turn, all standing in a row ; 

And oft the wood with joyous laughter rung, 
As each paid Dan a kiss for being swung. 

Since gratitude is strong when years are few, 
The more impulsive little tots gave two. 

Ellen would swing — said Brown, with many a smirk, 
" I caun't, ye know, it's quite too much like work ! 

" But I will awsk that splendid athlete there ; 
Say, Daniel, won't you swing my lady fair?" 

" 'Twould give me untold pleasure ! " Dan replies ; 
Meanwhile to help her in Fitz-Potter tries. 



THE SWING. 



Said she : " You cannot lift me up so high ; 
Best hold the board and let good Daniel try ! " 

Dan lifts her in as one would lift a child, 

For strength was ever strong when beauty smiled. 

The smaller swing-rope 'neath the seat is tied ; 
At first he pulls it gently lest she chide. 

His share of earth he'd give, and life's young hope. 
To win the hand now clinging to that rope ; 

And marvels much so small a piece of board 
Should hold so much, so much is she adored. 

There's music in the rustle of her gown ; 

Dan's heart goes up whenever hers comes down ! 

He hates to swing her from him, yet he knows 
She will return, however high she goes. 

Fair Ellen sees, each time she passes by, 
Fresh admiration in his ardent eye. 

Which joy it is, would puzzle her to say, 

Or swing or Dan most takes her breath away. 

Yet higher up she goes till Dan perceives 
Her dainty foot among the dainty leaves. 

She sails the air as one floats in a dream, 
Her joy accenting with a timid scream. 

Though soaring skyward is a rare delight, 
Some angels unaccustomed are to flight ; 

And when she smiles 'tis easy to suppose 
That she is one, arrayed in modern clothes. 



THE SWING. 



Lest gravitation's law she disobey, 

He pulls her back for fear she get away ; 

Until the rope seems but some new device 
For pulling angels out of Paradise ! 

As sways the eucalyptus in the breeze, 

By Dan's strong arm is Ellen swung with ease. 

When love is toiling, toiling is but play, 
And yet no fairy waif is Ellen Gray ; 

Though Love be light, 'tis not all frills and flounces, 
Each precious pound holds sixteen precious ounces ! 

Tis not the labor makes Dan's brow perspire, 
But hope aglow, a heart with love on fire. 

Though from each graceful sweep soft zephyrs came 
To cool his cheek, they further fanned the flame. 

Gazing entranced he " lets the old cat die." 
" I fear you're tired, Daniel ! " " No, not I ! 

" I'd like to swing you all my life ! " said Dan, 
And Ellen, blushing, said : " Perhaps you can ! " 

She knows his worth and knows he loves her too ; 
And helps him, just as any girl should do. 

One rarely knows what's on a woman's mind ; 

Dan might have known, but love had made him blind. 

To help her meaning she her hand extends, 
And loves him more the less he comprehends. 

What most we wish seems hardest to acquire, 
Yet nigh at hand is oft the heart's desire. 



THE SWING. 



Had Daniel known that hand was his already, 
He would have held it longer and more steady. 

Meanwhile Fitz-Potter-Brown had tried in vain 
To sip some consolation from his cane, 

Until his heart thermometer betrayed 
The mercury at ninety in the shade ; 

Then stepping up with diplomatic skill : 

" I'll help her out, the swing has made her ill ! " 

Said she : " Who helped me in should help me down ; 
Again you hold the board, Fitz-Potter-Brown ! " 

Dan lifts her down with far more strength than 

grace, 
For his untutored arms get out of place ; 

And over-cautious lest he let her slip, 
He multiplies the ardor of his grip. 

Fair Ellen too, as gentle counter-check, 

Puts one plump arm about good Daniel's neck. 

Fitz-Potter hems and haws to smother pride, 
As cautiously he beckons Dan aside. 

" You work too hawd and faw too little pay — 
My thanks, and those of my sweet Ellen Gway ; 

" This perspiwation mars your handsome features : 
Leave toil and sweat faw beasts and wo'king 
creatures ! " 

" An empty head holds much that is not wise, 
And gives the tongue much useless exercise ! 



THE SWING. II 



" If she is yours, you've ta'en the lesser part," 

Said Dan, " and gained the hand without the heart ! ' 

" She is not mine, but what is quite the same, 
I've just determined she shall take my name ! 

" A thing you'd hawdly awsk, although you love her, 
For she is one would marwy much above her! " 

Said Dan : " 'Twould be indeed a petty theft 
To take your name, you'd have so little left ! 

" Nor will she, sir, while she retain her wits, 
Abjure her precious name, and take on Fitz ! " 

Meanwhile a little tot plucked Ellen's dress : 
" 'Oo didn't pay Dan for 'oor swing, I dess ! 

" We all dives him a tiss when we dits froo ! 
'Oo've swung so long 'oo better div him two ! " 

" With all my heart, you little dear! " said Nell; 
" I'll throw him one, perhaps 'twill do as well." 

" Don't frow a tiss, for 'at would on'y waste it ! 
A tiss aint any dood unless 'oo taste it ! " 

" Div it to me and I will take it to him ! 
If 'oo are bashful, one, I dess, will do him ! 

" Here, Daniel, here is half of Ellen's tiss ; 
'Oo'll dit the other half where I dot this !" 

Then captive led him back to Ellen Gray : 

" Here's Dan, who loves 'oo ! this I heard him say — 

" But he's so very bashful, as 'oo see, 
He's blushin' now f'om even tissin' me ! " 



UNCLE EPH'S HEAVEN. 



At last the little tot had loosed his tongue ; 
And sweeter love-words never mortal sung. 

" I've been in Cupid's swing beyond a doubt ! 
And you, my little Love-god, helped rne out ! ' 

" I helped 'oo out, as well I tould afford, 
Since I had Mr. Brown to hold ze board ! 

"And if he's mad I razzer dess 'at he 
Will have to take revenge by lovin' me." 



UNCLE EPH'S HEAVEN. 

Kin you tell dis pore ole darky jes' how fur 'tis to de 

sky ? 
An' de way I's got to trabel ? 'Caze I 'spect I's gwine to 

die. 
Kin you map out all de jou'ney, and esplain it all to me? 
Like I gwine out'n Georgia, ober dar in Tennessee ? 
Kin you tole me all aforetime 'zactly whar I gwine to go ? 
For when I's dead, ole marster, how you 'spect I gwine to 

know ? 
Ef de sperit leave de body, whar de body gwine appeah ? 
Is de spi'it gwine to take me, or gwine to leab me heah ? 

What's it like up dar in glory, whar de good folks go 

what dies ? 
In de gre't etarnal mansion, way up yondah in de skies ? 
Is it like de ole plantation, de place whar I wah bo'n ? 
Does dey hab de watah-million, an' de cotton an de 

cawn ? 



UNCLE EPH'S HEAVEN. 13 

Does dey hab de sweet-pertater, an' de possum an' de 

coon ? 
Kin you go out dar a-huntin', in de glimmer ob de 

moon ? * 
Does dey gadder roun' de cabin wid de banjo on de 

knee ? 
Ef it's like to ole Verginny, den it's heav'n enough fo' 

me ! 

I done hear de cullud parson, in his sanctermonous 

tones, 
Say de walls vvah made ob jaspah, an' de gates o' precious 

stones ; 
Say dey got no use for silber, mus' be di'mon's, pearl, an : 

gol'; 
I reckon he done guessin' ; what he know about de 

soul ? 
Says de fruit is eberlastin' all along de gol'en street ; 
Don' you t'ink dat sawt o' pavement gwine hurt Uncle 

Ephr'am's feet ? 
Radder hab de grassy meadow, an' de good ole-fashion 

tree, 
Like we had in old Verginny ; den it's heav'n enough fo' 

me. 

When I done lose my color, does you reckon I turn 

white ? 
Den dey say : " Ole Uncle Ephr'am, he done gone an' got 

a fright ! " 
Ef I's white like dat dar image ob de angel on de 

shelf 
De Lawd he wouldn' know me ; 'spect I wouldn' know 

myself. 



14 UNCLE EPH'S HEAVEN. 

How you 'spect I wear dat garmint an' all dem sort 

o' t'ings ? 
I's a heap too ole fo' flyin' ; how you 'spect I look wid 

wings ? 
Ef I done go a-harpin' an' wear dat gol'en crown 
Someone comes erlong what knows me — calls ole Uncle 

Ephr'am down. 

All I wants is jes' git in dar, in thoo de kitchen do' ; 
Waitin' on de Lawd an' Marster, wouldn' awsk fer 

nothin' mo' ; 
Takin' car about de hosses, keep de cattle out'n de 

cawn ; 
Playin' wid de little chillun, little chillun on de lawn ; 
Dar's heaps o' chillun yondah knows ole Uncle Ephr'am 

well; 
An' de Kingdom's full o' chillun I done heah de parson 

tell ; 
An' when dee heahs my fiddle gwine to gadder roun' my 

knee, 
Like dey did in ole Verginny ! dat's de heav'n I wants 

to see !' 

I's been tryin' to l'arn ezactly what de Christian ought to 

do; 
Dat's why I's been, ole marster, all dese years a-watchin' 

you. 
I knows you's boun' git in dyah 'caze you's been so good 

an' kin', 
An' I hates to go an' leab you — leab you waitin' heah 

behin'. 
I sees you's gittin' drowsy ; now befo' you gwine asleep, 
Won' you please to tell ole Ephr'am 'bout de Shepherd 

an de sheep ? 



"PALESTINE." 15 



Tole dat story 'bout de sheepfol', an* about de sheepfol' 

bin, 
Whar de white sheep an' de black sheep gwine to be all 

gaddered in. 

Wharfo' you git so sleepy ev'y time I bresh you' hyar ? 
Hoi' up you head, ole marster, else you gwine fall out'n 

de chyar ! 
Sleepin' wid yo' eyes wide open ? What's up dar you 

gazin' at ? 
Why, what's de matter, marster? — never seed you look 

like dat ! 
To' de Lawd I t'inks you dyin' ! no ! no ! Marster, don' 

you go, 
An' leab you' pore ole Ephr'am watchin', waitin' heah 

below ! 
Does you see de angels comin' dat you' face is turn' so 

white ? 
Bress de Lawd, I sees you smilin' like you foun' de way 

all right ! 



"PALESTINE." 

A little maid at Sunday-school, 
And golden hair and Golden Rule 

To her are quite the same. 
She hears the story she loves best, 
How Jesus little children blest, 
Gets Peter mixed up with the rest — 

The child is not to blame, 
For Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John, 
All she can fix her mind upon, 

Are sure to get the glory. 



1 6 "PALESTINE." 



But speak of Jesus crucified, 

E'en though she know not why he died, 

Her little ears are open wide 

To catch the sacred story. 
The light of heaven is in her eye, 
A bit of blue ta'en from the sky ; 
You see the angels, by the bye, 

Reflected in them shine. 
She asks, " And where did Jesus live ? 

And is it far to Palestine ? 
One-half of life I'd freely give, 

If I could go to Palestine — 

Across the sea to Palestine." 

A maiden grown so beautiful, 
To worship her seems dutiful ; 

So thinks the ardent youth. 
They sit together in the pew 
And worship God as lovers do : 
God gets one thought and love gets two, 

If they confess the truth. 
If each love each with one accord 
A trifle better than their Lord 

Tis but young love's emotion. 
E'en while she hears the sermon said, 
The thought that next month she'll be wed 
But makes her cheek the brighter red 

To prove the heart's devotion. 
The light of heaven is in her eye ; 
A bit of blue ta'en from the sky, 
He thinks : " No angel from on high 

Is half so fair as mine." 
Andyet no love can take away 

That early thought of Palestine : 



"PALESTINE." 17 



" One-fourth of life," he hears her say, 
" I'd give to go to Palestine — 
Across the sea to Palestine." 

A loving mother at whose knee 
Fair children learn of Galilee, 

As she who teaches them 
First learned to love, then to adore, 
And worship her dear Saviour more. 
Longing to see that distant shore, 

Where lies Jerusalem ; 
A Christian mother grown in grace 
Until upon her very face 

You read the sacred story ; 
As leaves of autumn blushing hold 
All of the summer's sunset gold, 
So that the year when growing old 

May be baptized in glory. 
Or like some rainbow fallen down, 
Upon the mountain, old and brown, 
Bright as the halo's circled crown 

Of Jesus, the divine. 
The less of life she has to live, 

The more she longs for Palestine ; 
One-tenth of life she'd freely give 

Could she but go to Palestine — 

Across the sea to Palestine. 

Grandmother old, with aproned lap 
And hair much whiter than her cap — 

For in those tresses hoary 
A lifetime's purity is caught — 
As if some silkworm deftly wrought 

The silken texture of her thought 

Into a crown of glory. 



"Palestine:' 



A face so pleasant all the while, 
Not age, but the accustomed smile, 

Had furrowed wrinkles there. 
The day of youth in glory dies ; 
The moon her cloudy pennant flies 
Up the blue ocean of the skies ; 

Old age and moon compare. 
When dusk hath heralded the night, 
Then with a soft and borrowed light 
From out another world more bright 

Both faces seem to shine. 
The less of life she has to live, 

Still longing for dear Palestine, 
The less of life she has to give — 

One year to go to Palestine — 

Across the sea to Palestine. 



Old age sits nodding in her chair. 

Her thoughts are what ? Her thoughts are where 

Who knows what age is thinking ? 
Long hours she'll sit and croon and wait, 
As though she did anticipate 
Some angel at the garden gate. 

They watch her slowly sinking, 
Enfeebled, wrinkled, withered age, 
Her finger resting on the page 

For years she has not read — 
That sacred Book of truth divine, 
The very page, the very line 
That points the way to Palestine. 

One nod, and she is dead ! 
How many harps are left unstrung, 
How many songs are left unsung, 



JDOiV'T YOU THINK SO, BILL? 1 9 

Like prayers that never reach the tongue, 

Yet heard by the Divine ! 
Her longing ended at the grave ; 

She went at last to Palestine — 

Another way to Palestine. 
And all her Christian life she gave 

To go and live in Palestine — 

That fairer, holier Palestine. 



DON'T YOU THINK SO, BILL? 

Say, Bill, I've been a-thinkin' ! you know how a feller 
feels 

When he somehow thinks of nothin'; dead in love, head 
over heels ; 

Like a frog that's in the water buried all except his eyes ; 

Just a-winkin' and a-blinkin' at some frog for whom he 
sighs ; 

I've enjoyed that sort o' feelin', it's been comin' on for 
years — 

Like a flutter in the bosom, like a twitter in the ears. 

Some say marriage is a failure ; but I'm willin' to con- 
fess 

That for unalloyed emotion, sparkin's jist a grand suc- 
cess ! 

Don't you think so, Bill ? 

Some say marriage is a failure ! Well, what else can 
they expect ? 

One can have a business failure on about the same neg- 
lect. 



20 DON'T YOU THINK SO, BILL? 

Pay a wife as much attention as you do the vines you 

start, 
And the grapes of love will cluster on the trellis of the 

heart ! 
Take one-half the pains to cherish, that you did to gain 

her love, 
And you'll find her just the angel you've been always 

dreamin' of ! 
But when talkin' of the cherubs, don't forget my Bessie 

Grey; 
She can discount all the angels flyin' up the Milky Way ! 
Don't you think so, Bill? 

Her father lost his fortune in that mine at Silver Hill ; 
Then became a helpless cripple at the fallin' o' the 

mill; 
When misfortune comes a-callin' she will bring a friend 

next day ; 
And the more she is unwelcome, why, the longer she 

will stay. 
What a heap of friends go flyin' when one's riches take 

on wings ; 
And the pinch o' want seems harder from the thought 

o' better things ! 
But they found the horn of plenty one mornin' at the 

door ; 
I suspect the Master Masons — they have done such 

things before ! 

Don't you think so, Bill ? 

I'd consent to be a cripple, havin' Bessie all the while ; 
There's a glint of heaven's glory in that pretty maiden's 
smile ! 



DON'T YOU THINK SO, BILL? 21 

Her face is like the sunrise, when the first faint blushes 
say, 

Stealin' up the cheek 0' mornin', — " Here's another 
pleasant day ! " 

Eyes — much like the eyes of angels, fashioned from the 
blue above, 

With a little touch o' human, just to teach man how to 
love ! 

Lots o' times I've been there callin' and started to pro- 
pose, 

But my tongue would stop a-talkin' every time my heart 
arose ! 

Don't you think so, Bill ? 

'Makin' love is mighty easy — but when you've got it 

made, 
How you goin' to tell her of it, if you haven't learned the 

trade ? 
Well, I got so very bashful that I tried the German 

plan : 
" Ich liebe dich, mein fraulein ! " but she answered : 

" Nicht fur stan ! " 
Then I answered : " I am pleadin' for a friend o' mine 

by birth ; 
Who would give the earth to have you if he only had the 

earth ! " 
Then she answered : " Tell your friend, who seems so 

wealthy in his thought, 
I'm another's — and that makin' love by proxy comes to 

naught ! " 

Don't you think so, Bill ? 

To hear she loved another put my senses in a whirl ; 
I'd rather lose my bein' than have lost that lovely girl : 



22 DON'T YOU THINK SO, BILL? 

And I started in a-sobbin', when she stole behind my 

chair, 
And I felt her pretty fingers playin' love-notes in my 

hair: 
" If you're pleadin' for a stranger, better let the stranger 

cry ! " 
Then I had to up and tell her that the friend I meant 

was I ! 
With her cheek to mine she whispered — O, how sweet 

some words can be ! 
She had always loved another — but that other one was 

me ! 

Don't you think so, Bill ? 

People say I'm goin' crazy, wastin' money day and* 

night : 
Runnin' tunnels in the mountain ! and to-day I guess 

they're right : •* 
In the bosom of the mountain I've just struck the heart 

of gold, 
And learned how much o' happiness a mortal man can 

hold ! 
I'm goin' to tell my Bessie what good luck her kisses 

bring, 
And she'll hug her cripple father ! He'll get up and 

dance and sing ! 
One is pretty safe in sayin' that heaven's begun below, 
When he's got the blessed angel and the happiness to 

show! 

Don't you think so, Bill ? 



PAT'S CONFEDERATE PIG. 23 



PAT'S CONFEDERATE PIG. 

When the war broke out Pat was first to enlist ; 
He'd fight wid shillaly or fight wid his fist. 

Now Patrick was fresh from the ould, ould sod, 
And carried a gun as he'd carry a hod. 

He'd soon learn to shoot it, he hadn't a doubt, 

If they'd put in the load while he'd watch it come out ; 

But when he had shot it, he said he had ruther 

Be pricked wid the one end than kicked wid the other. 

His rations of whisky he'd drink at one swig ; 
And never mark time but he'd end with a jig. 

They went to the front ; Pat thought it was hard, 
The very first night to be put upon guard, 

Yet he paced back and forth, out in the night air, 
Rehearsing his " Halt ! " and " Who goes there ? " 

" I'm to shoot the Confederate straight through the 

heart — 
But how is a stranger to tell 'em apart ? 

" I'll know Mr. Rebel, the officers say, 

By the clothes he has on, supposed to be gray. 

" Is a gentleman judged by the cut of his clothes, 
As a toper is told by the tint of his nose ? 

" But how can I tell if he come in the dark ? 
Must I judge of the tree by feelin' the bark ? 

" I'll be sure of his wardrobe, bedad, ere I shoot ! 
To be the right man he must wear the wrong suit ! 



24 PAT'S CONFEDERATE PIG. 

" I think I'll surround him, the first thing I say, 
Then ax him this question : ' Your coat, is it gray ? ' 

" But I swear by the whisky that's in my canteen, 
I'll not trouble him if he's wearing the green." 

Tis late in the night — all the camp is asleep — 
When Pat hears a noise that makes his flesh creep ! 

Something crawls through the brush ! Pat holloes out 

" Halt ! " 
And " Who goes there? If you're deaf, it's your fault !" 

All he hears is " R-r-ruff ! R-r-ruff ! " That sounds like 

a grunt — 
" He 's a rough, sure," says Pat, " for his language is 

blunt ! 

" March here and surrender, me Reb, or you die ! 
Come ! out wid yer business ! I'll bet you're a spy! " 

" U-g-h-w-e-e J U-g-h-w-e-e !" "Holy murther ! What 

language is that ? 
'Tis some foreign tongue, I'll be blowed ! " muttered Pat. 

" An officer sure — but betwixt you and me, 
Is the whole army wid ye ? " " U-g-h-w-e-e ! U-g-h- 
w-e-e ! U-g-h-w-e-e! U-g-h-w-e-e!" 

" We ! we!" muttered Pat ; " surely that's French for 

yes. 
I'll capture an army ! Hold, aisy — I guess 

" I'd better have help — so I'll call up the crowd : 
The Rebels are on us ! " he cries out aloud. 



PAT'S CONFEDERATE PIG. 25 

" The Rebels are on us ! " Out rush the whole corps, 
Surrounding the wood which they quickly search o'er, 

Then sweep through the brush at a double-quick jog; 
But all they can find is a dirty white hog. 

They cursed till they laughed and laughed till they cried ; 
For rousing the army next day Pat was tried. 

" Court-martialed ? " said Pat — " My offense is not big, 
Why not try the army for rousin' the pig? 

" But since I've no lawyer to fix up my case 
Wid fiction — I'll give ye the truth in its place. 

"He came in the noight wid his heart in his mouth, 
Like an honest Confederate, straight from the South. 

" I axed him this question, for I couldn't see : 

' Are you, sir, a spy ? ' Then he answered : ' We ! we!' 

" As I am a soldier, I'll ne'er dance a jig — 
But he was a reg'lar Confederate pig. 

"I've brought into court, to confirm what I say, 
These bristles, that prove he was wearin' the ' gray.' 

" 'Tis all that was left me, I'm sad to relate — 
The rest of the pig, sirs, you officers ate. 

"To speak out me moind, sure I'll die but it's true : 
There's many a pig here that's wearin' the blue ! " 



26 LITTLE NED'S WAGON. 



LITTLE NED'S WAGON. 

Widow Carney took in washin'. Twas her way of 

earnin' bread ; 
And she learned about how chapely human bein's may 

be fed. 

Life was loike her occupation — nothin' but a constant 

rub; 
And her airy castles vanished loike the bubbles in her 

tub. 

But she had one constant comfort : little Ned, her only 

choild, 
Whom she called her " soilent partner," at the which he 

always smoiled ; 

Said : " he only carried bundles whoile his mother did 

the work ; 
Was the horse widout the wagin — a sort o' runnin' 

clerk ! " 

Whin the bundles were too heavy little Ned would not 

complain ; 
He'd simply rest more often, thin he'd up and off again. 

Ef he only had a wagin he'd be runnin' all the way, 
Jist to see the wheels go spinnin', turnin' labor into 
play ! 

Ef he only had a wagin what big bundles he could 

take ; 
And his mother heard him prayin' : " Sind me one, for 

Jesus' sake ! " 



LITTLE NED'S WAGON. 27 

Pretty soon he got acquainted wid the man who kept the 

sthore, 
Where he'd stop to try the wagins ivery toime he'd pass 

the door ; 

Till the merchint said one mornin' : " Little Ned, ye're 



very nice 



Ef you want a little wagin, yo' shall have one half the 
price ; " 

Runnin' home he towld his mother, and he thought he 

heard her say : 
" I can do widout me sugar ; I can do widout me tay ! " 

Little Ned jist thought his mother was an angel on 

parade ; t 
And about the sweetest creature that the Lord had iver 

made ! 

Whin Ned came home to supper, she was hid behoind 

the door, 
To watch him foind the wagin ; see his little heart run 

o'er. 

Said he wasn't very hungry, so the wittles had to wait 
Till he tried his yaller wagin, runnin' up and down the 
strate : 

Wilth an' power hold no pleasure, no sinsation loike to 

that 
Throbbin' in the little bosom underneath the faded hat ! 

After supper, by his wagin, on the floor sat little Ned, 
Whoile his mother from the paper wid some difficulty 
read. 



28 LITTLE NED'S WAGON. 

Readin' isn't very asy where ye spell it as ye go, 
And are forced to guess the meanin' of the words ye 
may not know. 

" Did you moind how I was readin', and what the 

paper said 
About the widow Farley, wid her husban' lately dead ? 

" Who had left her moity little, save the memory of his 

sins, 
And the sweetest pair o' babies iver found out they were 

twins. 

" Though the paper says the babies are the value of 

two farms, 
She's too poor to give them airin' save she toat them in 

her arms ; 

" And it wants some koindly person, who has such a 

thing to spare, 
To sind round a baby carriage big enough to howld the 

pair." 

Whoile Ned's heart was in his wagin he was payin' little 

heed * 

To his mother's elocution, or the matther she moight 

read ; 

But whin she spoke o' babies, he stopped her in her 

talk : 
" How long before two babies could teach thimselves to 

walk ? " 

"Well, Ned, I'll try to answer, though your question's 

very queer : 
Ef they're Yankee-Irish babies, faith they'll larn widin 

the year." 



LITTLE NED'S WAGON. 29 

His heart was in a struggle — how to let his wagin go ; 
For those precious little babies kept on pullin' at it so. 

With his head laid on the wagin, fell asleep wid many 

sighs ; 
And his mother guessed the reason for the tears, ran 

from his eyes 

Loike great drops of punctuation in his broken, sleepy 

talk :— 
" A year — before — two babies — could teach — selves — 

walk ; " 

Said his mother, in the mornin' : " Why so early at yer 

play ? " 
She didn't catch his answer, but she saw him run away 

Up the strate and round the corner : — " Faith, I know 

what he's about ; 
And he'll niver ate his breakfast till he takes those babies 

out. 

" Such a noble little fellow : sure, ef death tore us 

apart 
I would shortly follow after wid me sad an' broken heart ; 

" An* I'd foind him way up yonder, wid a wagin by his 

side, 
Axin' all the baby angels — ' Would they loike to take a 

ride ? ' " 

Pretty soon she heard him comin', full o' grief and full o' 

joy: 
" Are ye laughin', Ned, or cryin' ? what's the matther 

wid me boy ? " 



3^ FOREIGN VIEWS OE THE STATUE. 

" I wint round to Mrs. Farley's, where those little babies 

live, 
An' she axed me what I wanted, but I said I'd come to 

give— 

" Give the little twins my wagin — though I stumbled in 

me talk — 
Ef she'd please to let me have it whin the babies larned 

to walk ; 

" Thin she took me in an' showed me how her little 

house was full 
Of those pretty baby wagins what yo' push, and niver 

pull: 

" Said the people ' koindly sent 'em !— God bless ye, 

little lad ; 
But I couldn't take yer wagin : ' Thin I cried, I was so 

glad ! " 



FOREIGN VIEWS OF THE STATUE. 

On the deck of a steamer that came up the Bay 
Some garrulous foreigners gathered one day, 
To vent their opinions of matters and things 

On this side the Atlantic, 

In language pedantic. 
'Twas much the same gathering as any ship brings. 

" Ah, look ! " said the Frenchman, with pride his lip 
curled ; 

" See ze Liberte Statue enlighten ze world ! 

Ze grandest colossal zat evair vas known ! 
Thus Bartholdi, he speak : 
Vive la France — Amerique ! 

La belle France make ze statue, and God make ze stone ! 



FOREIGN VIEWS OF THE STATUE. 3* 

Said the Scotchman : " Na need o' yer spakin' sae free ! 
The thing is na sma', sir, that we canna see. 
Do ye think that wi'oot ye the folk couldna tell ? 

Sin' 'tis Liberty's Statye, 

I kenna why that ye 
Didna keep it at hame to enlighten yoursel' ! " 

The Englishman gazed through his watch-crystal eye ; 
" 'Pon 'onor, by Jove, it is too beastly high ! 
A monstwosity, weally, too large to be seen ! 

In pwoportion, I say, 

It's too large faw the Bay. 
So much larger than one we've at 'ome of the Queen ! " 

An Italian next joined the colloquial scrimmage : 

" I dress-a my monkey just like-a de image, 

I call-a ' Bartholdi,' Frenchman got spunky — 

Call-a me ' Macaroni,' 

Lose-a me plenty moany ! 
He break-a my organ and keel-a my monkey ! 

" My-a broder a feesherman : hear-a what he say : 
No more-a he catch-a de feesh in de Bay ; 
He drop-a de sein, — he no get-a de weesh. 

When he make-a de grab-a, 

Only catch-a de crab-a, 
De big-a French image scare away all de feesh ! " 

" By the home rule ! " said Pat, " and is that Libertee ? 

She's the biggest old woman that iver I see ! 

Phy don't she sit down ? 'Tis a shame she's to stand. 
But the truth is, Oi'm towld 
That the stone is too cowld. 

Would ye moind the shillalah she holds in her hand I " 



32 FOREIGN VIEWS OF THE STATUE. 

Said the Cornishman : " Thaat's noa ' shillalah,' ye 

scaamp ! 
Looaks to I like Diogenes' 'ere wi' 'is laamp, 
Searchin' haard fur a 'onest maan." " Faith, that is 
true," 

Muttered Pat, " phat ye say, 
Fur he's lookin' my way, 
And by the same favor don't recognize you ! " 

" Shust vait unt I dolt you," said Hans ; " vats der mat- 
ter, 
It vas von of dem mermaits coomed ouwd fun der vater 
Unt she hat noddings on ; unt der vintry vind plows, 

Unt fur shame, unt fur pidy, 

She vent to der cidy, 
Unt buyed her a suit fun der reaty-mate clo's." 

Says the Yankee : "I've heerd ye discussin' her figger ; 
And I reckon you strangers haint seen nuthin' bigger. 
Wal, I haint much on boastin' but I'll go my pile : 

When you furreners cum 

You'll find her to hum ! 
Dew I mean what I say ? Wal, somewhat — I should 
smile ! " 

" Me no sabee you Foleners ; too muchee talkee ! 
You no like Idol, you heap takee walkee. 
Him allee same Chinaman velly big Joshee, 

Him Unclee Sam gal-ee ; 

Catch um lain, no umblallee ! 
Heap velly big shirtee — me no likee washee ! " 



LITTLE TIM'S TOBACCO. 33 



LITTLE TIM'S TOBACCO. 

Stood the grocer on the counter, ranging goods upon the 

shelf ; 
Having no one to converse with he was talking to 

himself, 

When little Tim came toddling up and gazing round the 

store, 
Until his stock of patience wouldn't serve him any more. 

" Pray, Mister man, dest listen a 'ittle bit to me! 
Has 'oo dot some tobacco ? I dess 'at's it I see ! 

"And is it dood for smokin' ? And please dive me a lot ; 
I's brought along a penny and 'ants the best 'oo's dot." 

The grocer's hearty laughter dies into a tender smile, 
As he thinks of such a darling he once followed down 
the aisle. 

In that package of tobacco he somehow forgets to weigh, 
If he cheats himself, no matter, makes it up some other 
day. 

And little Tim comes often with his penny to the store ; 
And the man with careless guessing gives each time a 
little more. 

Till one day the grocer asks the little fellow, just in fun : 
" Since you buy so much tobacco, do you smoke, my little 
son ? " 

*' Tobacco wasn't made, I dess, for tiny 'ittle folks ; 

I buys it for my dranpa, sir, because my dranpa smokes. 



34 LITTLE TIM'S TOBACCO. 

" He hasn't had much tumfort since my precious mamma 

died, 
And papa brought anozzer lady which he tails his bride. 

" She burned all ze tobacco — said it was a vicious taste : 
Since he hadn't any money he'd have none of hers to 
waste ; 

" And she moved him to ze garret, where I always goes 

to play ; 
So I takes him zis tobacco and I lets him smoke all day ; 

" For he's very, very feeble and he's noffin else to do ; 
If it is a waste o' money, it's a heap o* tumfort too : 

" Please to dive me all you tan, sir, and I'll dive you my 

last penny, 
For I's toot 'em from my bank at home until zer isn't 

any ! " 

" Keep your penny ! " said the grocer, " that's your 

change, my little dear ! 
For tobacco is much cheaper." Ah, 'tis cheaper by a 

tear! 

And the grocer's eyes are filling till he has to walk apart ; 
For that rebate on tobacco leaves a surplus in his heart. 

Said little Tim, one morning : " I's a sorrow to impart, 
For I's turn to tell you, grocer, that I's dot a broken 
heart ! 

" I's brought back ze tobacco." And he hung his curly 

head — 
" I dess I'll never need it, betause my dranpa's dead ! 



" THE REMAINDER OF THE YEAR." 35 

" He was talkin' 'bout ze angels — ' Look ! ' he said, 

' zey're tumin' now ! ' 
Though I looked I touldn't see em : I don't know zem 

anyhow ; 

" But I dess they don't like smokin' 'tause ze pipe 

dropped from his hand 
As he said, 'Dood-by'; and somepin' which I touldn't 

understan'. 

" Here's hes pipe and ze tobacco ; please to put 'em on 

ze shelf ; 
For when papa's old and feeble he might want to smoke 

heself. 

" Den I'll have to turn an' dit 'em — you tan guess ze rea- 
son why — 

For I'll teep him in ze garret where he let my dranpa 
die!" 

" Retribution ! " sighed the grocer, as Tim toddled out of 

sight ; 
" Life is full of retribution ! and that little fellow's 

right ! " 



"THE REMAINDER OF THE YEAR!" 

I remember New Year's morning hearing dear old 

grandma say : 
" You'll be doing all the year just what you're doing New 

Year's Day," 
When my face lit up with blushes and the happiness in 

store 
As a certain handsome fellow tied his horses at my door. 



36 " THE REMAINDER OF THE YEAR," 

For he took me out a-sleighing on that happy New Year 
time, 

And my heart kept beating faster than the merry sleigh- 
bells' chime; 

Then he tucked the furs in closer 'till I thought I'd have 
to scold 

When he, blushing, softly muttered : " Dear, I hope you 
are not cold ! " 

Then I said : " Look here, 
Don't you call me dear, 

Or else you'll keep on calling the remainder of the year ! " 

You have seen the barren branches fresh baptized with 

evening rain, 
Decked with diamonds in the morning with white velvet 

robes en train ; 
Myriad crystals in the branches, dazzling prisms in the 

snow ; 
Just the day of all the season nature most delights in show, 
And it seemed this glorious morning, as we rode out in 

the sleigh, 
The Almighty had robbed heaven in the making of the clay. 
Then he kissed me as I happened to be gazing at the sky, 
Saying : " Nature wears her jewels when the queen is 

riding by." 

Yes, he kissed me here, 

Till I had to interfere. 

Or he might have kept on kissing the remainder of the 

year. 

Have you never been so happy that you felt your being 

thrill, 
Longing for the power of Joshua to bid the sun stand 

still ; 



SHERMAN'S MARCH. 37 

Just to make the day eternal, lest before another dawn, 

In the dreamy hours of slumber, all your happiness be 
gone ? 

Thus we rode 'neath arching branches while the sleigh- 
bells' music rare 

Echoed through that crystal palace God had builded in 
the air, 

When this Joshua the younger bade his handsome horses 
stay, , 

While he asked me if I'd wed, and coaxed me not to 
answer nay. 

As he drew me near 

I answered " Yes," for fear 

The rascal would keep coaxing the remainder of the year. 



SHERMAN'S MARCH. 

EXCUSE a blind old soldier if too eager in his quest 
To feel the copper button on the lapel of your breast. 
I've been so blind I haven't seen a comrade since the 

war, 
But know the grip of fellowship found in the G. A. R. 
I know you are a hero, though you tell me not your 

name, 
So I shall call you comrade, for the meaning's just the 

same. 
I've come to see the general — he's here, I understand ; 
Now, comrade, lead me to him, for I'd like to shake his 

hand. 

I know it is an honor, 
But you'll tell him this for me, 
That I marched down with Sherman 
From Atlanta to the sea. 



38 SHERMAN'S MARCH. 

'Twas the march of all the ages — Chattanooga to the sea, 
Then back again to Richmond, one long march of 

victory ! 
Three thousand miles of marching, with a hundred 

thousand men, 
And a thousand banners flying — there was plenty fight- 
ing then ; 
For 'tis something more than marching, with the 

elements at play 
And the swarthy storm-king flinging his battalions in 

the way. 
It is something more than marching where every step 

you go 
You are forced to fight with Nature and a still more 

stubborn foe. 

I could tell you all about it 

If you'd listen unto me, 

For I marched down with Sherman 

From Atlanta to the sea. 

I could tell you all about it, and the reason why 'twas 

done ; 
For ofttimes the greatest battle is with smallest carnage 

won ! 
Those great chieftains — Grant and Sherman, peerless 

military twain — 
Planned to settle the rebellion in a double-fold campaign ; 
While Grant held Lee at Richmond, Sherman, marching 

through the South, 
Cut off hope and all resources save what's in the 

cannon's mouth. 
When your enemy is helpless it is just the same, you know, 
As when you've thrust a rapier though the vitals of a foe. 



SHERMAN'S MARCH. 39 

Yes, I'm a blind old veteran, 

But proud as I can be 

That I marched down with Sherman 

From Atlanta to the sea. , 

Lee well knew those marching thousands meant his final 
overthrow, 

And to yield far greater conrage than cause useless 
blood to flow. 

Had those concentrated armies — veteran blue and 
veteran gray — 

Sought to settle the rebellion in one final, fatal fray, 

Fate's red history of battles would have held another page 

With recital of a carnage never known in any age ; 

And the sunset of rebellion would have made the earth 
more red 

With the blood of many thousands than the sunset over- 
head. 

When I am dead, my comrade, 
'Tis enough to say of me : 
That I marched down with Sherman 
From Atlanta to the sea. 

Some gained their fame at Gettysburg, when fame was 
nearly lost. 

At Fredericksburg, Antietam, too, 'twas learned what 
fame may cost. 

One climbed to fame on Lookout, fighting far above the 
clouds. 

At Mobile Bay one sailed to fame, lashed to the flag- 
ship shrouds. 

One rode to fame at Winchester ! At Appomattox 
town, 

Upon a modest soldier glory laid a modest crown. 



4° SHERMAN'S MARCH. 

And however, many battles owe success to Sherman's 

name 
As the mighty man of marches he'll be always known to 

fame. 

What ? You were down through Georgia ? 
Then you must have marched with me, 
When I marched down with Sherman, 
From Atlanta to the sea. 

Let's give three cheers for Sherman : Hurrah ! hurrah ! 

hurrah ! * 

Why are you silent, comrade ? Is there something in 

your craw ? 
What ! profess to be a comrade, and yet refuse to cheer 
The grandest of all generals ? What motive brings you 

here ? 
Why come to these reunions if you haven't any soul ? 
There's a home for crippled soldiers who are neither 

sound nor whole ; 
Why, you're more deserving pity, sir, and pension, too, I 

swan, 
Than those poor shattered veterans with arms and legs 

all gone ! 

You won't cheer Uncle Billy ? 
Then you can't shake hands with me ! 
For I marched down with Sherman, 
From Atlanta to the sea. 

Why, there's not another being in this nation, I dare say, 

Not even yon Confederate — brave enemy in gray — 

On such a grand occasion would refuse to cheer, when 

bid, 
The man who saved the Union, or led the men who did. 



THE ORTHOD-OX TEAM. 41 

Uncle Billy loved the soldiers, for he had a heart with- 
in — 
I heard him down in Georgia shout above the battle din, 
We were rather busy fighting, but this sentence I recall : 
" You brave boys who do the fighting, you're the heroes 
after all ! " 

What ? You are General Sherman ? 
Then you'll have to cheer for me ! 
For I marched down behind you, 
From Atlanta to the sea. 



THE ORTHOD-OX TEAM. 

" Hold on, stranger ! Turn out yonder, close to the 
wall ! 

For the road's rather narrow and I've got it all ! 

Whoa, back, haw there, old Baptist ! Whoa, Metho- 
dist, whoa ! 

These are oxen that need all the road you must know, 

Yes, I drive without swearin', though strange it may 
seem, 

For I'm drivin', good stranger, my orthod-ox team !" 
Said the lumberman of Calaveras. 

"That Episcopal ox is of excellent breed, 
He's more noted for style than he is for his speed. 
Though of delicate structure, this ox will not shirk, 
But he never was known, sir, to sweat at his work. 
He's a good, pious ox, never losin' his way, 
For he reads all the signboards and goes not astray ! " 
Said the lumberman of Calaveras. 



42 THE ORTHOD-OX TEAM. 

"There's the good Baptist ox: a breed that's well 

known ; 
Close communion in diet — he eats all alone ! 
Shakes his head when it's rainin' and closes his eyes ; 
He hates to be sprinkled, though it come from the 

skies ! 
Why, he won't cross a bridge unless dragged by the 

team ! 
He'll go nowhere, I swan, but down into the stream ! " 
Said the lumberman of Calaveras. 

" Presbyterian, gee ! Congregational, haw ! 

They're good stock, let me tell you, and know how to 

draw ! 
They're so perfectly matched, sir, that very few folk 
Can tell 'em apart when they're out of the yoke ! 
But you see a slight difference when it is shown : 
One leans on his elders and one stands alone ! " 
Said the lumberman of Calaveras. 

" There's an ox I term Israel, oldest of all ; 
Once he grazed in the garden before Adam's fall ; 
He went into the ark at the time of the flood, 
And when Pharaoh starved he Was chewin' his cud ! 
There's an ancestry, sir, full of glory no doubt, 
But for goring the Master they're scattered about ! " 
Said the lumberman of Calaveras. 

" I've an ox over there who tends strictly to 'biz ! ' 
He's the Catholic ox : what a monster he is ! 
And he keeps growin' big, while he keeps growin' old ! 
And he never lets go where he once gets a hold ! 
He's a strong one, you bet ! why, I never yet spoke 
But he started right off, with his neck in the yoke ! " 
Said the lumberman of Calaveras. 



THE ORTHOD-OX TEAM. 43 

" There's old Methodist, one of the best on the road ! 
You'd suppose, by the fuss, he alone dragged the load ! 
How he pulls when I sing hallelujah and shout ; 
But the worst of it is, he keeps changin' about ! 
He was bought on probation, and works like a top.; 
But I've had him three years and suppose I must 



swop 



Said the lumberman of Calaveras. 



" That suave Universalist many admire 
Thinks the devil's a myth with his great prairie fire ! 
There's an Adventist, claimin' to have second sight ; 
If he keeps on a-guessin' he'll guess the thing right ! 
And the Seventh Day Baptist — their numbers are such 
If they do break the Sabbath they don't break it much ! " 
Said the lumberman of Calaveras. 

" Got a Spiritist ? Yes, sir ; I bought one by chance ; v 
When it comes to hard work he goes off in a trance ! 
Nothin' practical, sir, in a medium ox, 
When you have to keep proddin' with rappin's and 

knocks ! 
But I must keep movin' and ploddin' along 
With my orthod-ox team, or the world will go wrong ! " 
Said the lumberman of Calaveras. 

" Take the road that I came, and beware of short cuts ! 
You will not lose the way if you follow the ruts, 
I'm sorry to force you, my friend, to turn out ; 
But this is the regular lumberman's route ! 
On the road of life, stranger, my right is supreme ; 
All the world must turn out for my Orthod-ox team !" 
Said the lumberman of Calaveras. 



44 OLD GLORY. 



OLD GLORY. 

Bright mantle of freedom ! what beauty 

Shines out from each delicate fold ! 
Man defends it from love, not from duty — 
A love that makes valor more bold ; 
Rushing on to his death 
With a prayer on his breath ; 
And the soul that ascends when the patriot dies 
Stops to kiss the bright folds on its way to the skies. 

The baby, forsaking his rattle, 

A tiny flag waves in his glee ; 
And later, with innocent prattle, 
He calls it his " F'ag of the fee " ! 
He's as proud as a lord 
When a lad with tin sword, 
Driving pigs and the chickens out under the bars, 
His first battle is won with the Stripes and the Stars. 

When a youth, in that proud, martial manner, 

He walks with the men on parade, 
You may see, in his love of the banner, 
The stuff of which soldiers are made. 

From the forge and the farm 
Comes at war's first alarm ! 
As a freeman, defending the flag of the free, 
Can you find, through the world, better soldier than he ? 

When a man forsakes all occupation 

That he may do battle, you know 
He will yield up his life for the nation 

Ere he yield up his flag to the foe ! 



OLD GLORY. 45 



With white face low-lying, 

He sees it still flying- ; 
His azure coat spattered with life's crimson hue : 
Still loyal in death with his red, white, and blue. 

Even Benedict Arnold, the traitor, 

From the depths of oblivion prayed ; 
Beseeching- with tears his Creator 
To bless the dear flag he betrayed. 

'Twas the gold in the dross ! 
As the thief on the Cross 
In his last cry for mercy was pitied by Heaven, 
So Liberty holds her first traitor forgiven. 

Those bright colors that fade in the even 

Are caught in the sunset on high ; 
Transferred to the blue field of heaven 
Those stars shine all night in the sky ! 

And the morning's first glory 
Tells one simple story, 
As it brings back each star and bright color again : 
Day and night and forever our flag shall remain ! 

As soft as the great eagle's pinion 
It floats on the much softer air; 
Where none may dispute its dominion 
And none with its beauty compare ! 

Should the whole world assail 
It could never prevail ! 
Ere its bright folds be trampled by conquering heel 
Every blade in the meadow shall turn into steel ! 

Bright proof of the patriot's story, 

Its legend is ever the same. 
We may add many stars to its glory 

But never a stripe to its fame ! 



46 NANCY HANKS. 

Over old Bunker Hill 
Are its folds waving still, 

Like an old Continental come out of the past ! 

'Twas for liberty born — 'twill for liberty last ! 

With liberty's statue commanding 

The great eastern gate of the free ; 
And the Lone Mountain cross ever standing 
At Golden Gate, there by the sea — 
Consecrating the sod 
To freedom and God — 
Shall Old Glory its folds in that sun ever toss 
Which, rising on Liberty, sets on the Cross, 



NANCY HANKS. 

Born in the woods, and raised thar too, 
I love the forest through and through ; 
I love to hear those giants hoary 
Tell younger trees the endless story 
About the ages long ago, 
And heaps o' things that I don't know ! 
With all the leaves a-noddin' to ye ; 
And birds that sing as if they knew ye. 
This outside World I never prized ; 
It's gittin' too much civilized ! 
But I came down to see the pranks 
O' this 'ere marvel, Nancy Hanks ! 
Homely name, aint it ? 

' What's in a, name ? ' Wal, I'll be bound, 
It's owin' to how ye make it sound ; 



NANCY HANKS. 47 

The meanest name will sound the best, 
When he who owns it does the rest ; 
And this 'ere royal little mar' 
Has made her name known everywhar' ! 
For she's got speed enough to win, 
No matter what she trots agin. 
And havin' nothin' else would chime, 
They raced her 'ginst old Father Time : 
This Nancy Hanks, the little elf, 
First beats the world ; then beats herself ! 
Homely name, aint it ? 

" A trotter always does the best 
With some good runnin' horse abreast, 
But Nancy left Abe Lincoln, sir, 
Who thought to make the pace for her, 
Away behind, an' losin' ground, 
Just as a fox '11 leave a hound ! 
But talk o' sulkies, I declare, 
She snaked that bicycle affair, 
With rubber tires an' spindle spokes, 
As though she meant to show the folks 
That Nancy's beauty and her speed 
Were owin' to Kentucky breed. 
Homely name, aint it ? 

" She sets ten thousand eager eyes 
Ablaze with wonder. How she flies ! 
As swift as yonder frightened crow ! 
Now Doble nods to let her go, 
An' 'fore ye think the race begun 
She's past the quarter — thirty-one ; — 
An' up the back stretch like a deer 
Fleein' the hardy mountaineer. 



48 NANCY HANKS. 

No driver ever rode so fast ! 
Another quarter ! Will it last ? 
The winged god has touched her shanks ; 
She'll win, she'll win, 'tis Nancy Hanks ! 
Homely name, aint it ? 

" Around the turn she holds her own ; 
The fastest quarter ever known ! 
The risin' multitude would shout, 
But for the fear 'twould throw her out. 
Excitement holds its breath ; each heart 
Beats quick, as though it would impart 
Fresh impulse to those flyin' feet, 
To make success the more complete ! 
Fierce indignation bites the lip — 
What, will he strike ? He's raised the whip ? 
But lets the tassel kiss her flanks — 
No hand shall scourge thee, Nancy Hanks ! 
Homely name, aint it ? 

" There speeds the queen of all her race ! 
She's comin' with the ease an' grace 
A pigeon has when flyin' home ! 
No chariot race of ancient Rome 
Raised such a shout ! She's past the wire ! 
She made old Father Time perspire ! 
A noble horse is just as good 
As many of the human brood ! 
An' she so fired my heart an' soul 
I hugged her, like she hugged the pole ! 
Along with all the other cranks 
I raise my hat to Nancy Hanks. 
Homely name, aint it ? 



NANCY HANKS. 48A 



' Where'd she get it ? ' Back in the wood, 
Long years ago, a cabin stood ; 
No comforts like you folks enjoy ; 
The mother's treasure was her boy 
Who used to wonder at her knee 
If angels were as sweet as she. 
But death soon took her from her trust, 
To taste the sacrament of dust. 
She hoped he'd grow an honest man, 
And prize a good name higher than 
A title, which it far outranks ! 
Kentucky bred was Nancy Hanks. 
Homely name, aint it ? 

" With wild-flowers rare he heaped her bed 
' 'Twould bring the angels there ! ' he said ; 
Talked with his mother way up there, 
A sendin' messages of prayer 
Through God's long-distance telephone 
To that one angel all his own. 
When snow had covered deep the sod, 
There happened by a man of God, 
Of whom he begged : ' Please say a word, 
'Bout her good deeds, God hasn't heard ;' 
And o'er the grave he sobbed his thanks, 
At those last words for Nancy Hanks. 
Homely name, aint it ? 

" A woman of ignoble birth 
May breed a fame to fill the earth ; 
But who can tell what cradle keeps 
The pillow whereon genius sleeps ? 
Above the manger who descries 
The star that marks where glory lies ? 
In that log cabin who could see 
The genius of a century ? 



481 



NANCY HANKS. 



Had that fond mother lived to share 
The glory of a fame so rare, 
Her heart had burst for very joy : 
Abe Lincoln was her little boy : — 
Homely name, aint it? " 



CRAZY VET. 49 



CRAZY VET. 

JUST stand aside thar', strangah ! 
I reckon I'll see faiah play ! 
Fo' I, too, was a soldier, 
Though I wo'e Confederate gray ! 
But I'll not see a veteran 
Abused by swells like you — 
Fo' fou' years' fightin' taught me 
To respect that coat of blue / 

Abusin' a wa'-wo'n soldier, 

By callin' him " Crazy Vet," 

Is a mighty poo' way, I'm thinkin', 

O' payin' a nation's debt ! 

You say : " His head was injured 

By a bit of flying shell ? " 

Well, I've a right smart notion 

O' crackin' you' skulls as well ! 

I want to tell yo' ray story : 
When I joined " Stonewall jack " 
My mother and sister had plenty 
To last 'em till I got back ; 
When up come " Mosby's guerrillas 
And robbed 'em of all they had ! 
But Heaven kept 'em from starvin', 
By sendin' a Union lad ! 

The advance of the Yankee army, 
Left ou' home in their lines ; 
And that young colonel's camp-fire 
Was just beneath ou' pines ! 
He filled my mother's lardah 



50 CRAZY VET. 



With the best he had in sto' ! 
And what with his fo'agin' soldiers, 
The house wouldn't hold any mo'! 

When I came home this story 
Was told me, again and again ; 
While teahs of regret came often, 
To think I had fought such men ! 
But now I'm wo'th my thousands, 
And looking fo' Colonel Grace ! 
And aftah months o' sarchin' 
I'm told he's abeout this place ! 

I'd like yo' to help me find him : 
Great Scott ! What's that yo' say? 
This is the man I'm seekin' 
That you've to'mented that way ? 
To send you home to the devil 
Would be treatin' you fa' too well ! 
I would — but that the " new version 
Explodes the old-fashioned hell! 

No ! no ! I begs you' pa'don — 
I'm rathah rough in my way — 
God bless yo' fo' this reunion 
Between the " blue and the gray ! " 
I'll seek some skillful surgeon 
And repair the ill that's done; 
Then take him back to my mother, 
Who calls him her blice-coat son. 

And I don't mind you' knowin' 
I've got a sister fair — 
A wealth of love in her bosom, 
A wealth of gold in her hair — 



PRETTY MAID OF SAN JOS&. 5 1 

And these two — wal, no mattah ! 
But call him " Crazy Vet " 
And I'll teach you Yanks a lesson 
I reckon you 'II not fo get I " 



PRETTY MAID OF SAN JOSE\ 

Such a sweet and lovely face, 
Like an angel out of place, 

Riding in a railway car. 
Face no human praise could flatter ; 
Couldn't keep from looking at her ; 
Offered her some reading matter: 

Asked if she was going far. 

Precious lips ! I heard them say : 
" Want to stop at San Jose. 

Loss of sleep is such a pity ! 
If she took a little nap 
Would I guard her from mishap, 
Give her just a little tap ; 

Wake her at the Garden City ? " 

Saw her rosy cheek reclining 
On my greatcoat's satin lining, 

Placed upon her high-back seat. 
Were I just a little bolder, 
Were that coat upon my shoulder, 
Sleep and I might both enfold her— 

Sentinels of maiden sweet. 

Pleasant duty — heart was in it ; 
Watched her closely every minute; 
Ever}' minute closer, too ! 



52 PRETTY MAID OF SAN JOSE. 

Would I watch her ? would I wake her ? 
Would I let conductor shake her ? 
Would I let the newsboy take her ? 
Gentle stranger, what would you ? 

Train had never gone so fast ! 
Wished the ride would always last ! 

Was her slumber very deep ? 
Should I wake her with caressing — 
Do a kindness by transgressing — 
Snatching thus another blessing 

From the precious boon of sleep ? 

No one there to interfere ! 
Dangerous to get so near 

To a pretty traveler ! 
Rosy lips, could not resist 'em ! 
Little closer, then I kissed 'em ! 
Wouldn't for the world have missed 'em, 

When I found how sweet they were. 

Cupid kept her eyes, I'm certain, 
Holding down each velvet curtain — 

He's a thief, the little elf ! 
To her silken lashes clinging ; 
To and fro, with laughter swinging, 
" One for me," he kept on singing, 

" Then another for yourself ! " 

With a laugh each one he greeted-: 
Laughed the more the more I cheated — 

Said I wasn't playing fair ! 
Overkissing indiscreet ; 
Judgment's gone when sweet lips meet; 
Angel kisses, if more sweet, 

Make one sigh — they are so rare. 



THE JEALOUS WIFE. 53 

Felt her breath, for I presume 
One can feel the sweet perfume 

From the roses of the lips. 
Sleep is sweet to those who love it ; 
Hers was sweet, I tasted of it ; 
Took another, just to prove it — 

Couldn't let such chances slip. 

Then she wakened with a smile 
That would any heart beguile. 

Thanked me in a pleasant way ; 
Thanked me with her head a-bobbing ; 
Thanked me with my heart a-throbbing ; 
Thanked the robber for his robbing — 

Pretty maid of San Jose. 

But to punish me for stealing, 
Stole my heart the theft revealing. 

To arrest us both that day 
Cupid changed his occupation — 
Played the sheriff at the station. 
Sentence, life incarceration 

With the maid of San Jos6. 



THE JEALOUS WIFE. 

John loved his young wife as the flower loves the dew 

She thought she could not live without him ; 
He vowed that to her he would ever be true — 
He vowed as the rest of the young husbands do ; 
She vowing she never would doubt him. 

One morning John left, through a habit pernicious, 
His overcoat down in the hall ; 



54 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 

" Ahem ! " quoth the wife, " the occasion's propitious 
To test John's fidelity ; though not suspicious, 
I'll peep in his pockets, that's all. 

' ' A bundle of letters ? and tied with a bow ? 

The perfume is attar of roses ! 
Ah, they're from his mother, who worships him so ; 
Although not inquisitive, I'd like to know 

Just how she begins, and how closes. 

" ' My own precious love ! ' Just what I used to say ! 

' From Helen, your own until death ! ' 
Why, that's not his mother's name — ' Caroline May? ' 
And why has he torn off the envelopes, pray ? 

Suspicion quite shortens my breath ! 

" The goose that I am — 'tis some sweetheart of old ! 

Suspicion shall not blanch my cheek — 
How foolish to doubt him — the date would have told ; 
And yet they're not musty, there's no trace of mould — 

Great Heavens ! They're dated this week ! 

" They're burning with love ! Oh, my poor heart will 
break ! 

While I'm scarcely more than a bride. 
My John to prove faithless — the villain, the rake ! 
I'll quickly repair to my chamber and take 

That last step in life — suicide ! 

" I'd leap from the window — but as it's not dark 

I'd look such a fright in the fall ! 
I'd die by his pistol — but when cold and stark 
There'd be on my temple a black powder mark 

And a horrid great hole from the ball ! 



THE JEALOUS WIFE. 55 

" My corpse mutilated would spoil the effect, 

For I must look lovely in death ! 
Cut my throat with his razor — oh, let me reflect — 
'Twould sever my windpipe, and then, I expect 

I never could draw my last breath ! 

" Should I drown myself down where the water is clear, 

By the mill in the deep, placid race ? — - 
The fishes would eat me ! No, no ! then I fear 
I'll have to hang up by the big chandelier ! — 

And then I'll turn black in the face. 

" I might light the fire with the kerosene can 

And go where all treachery ceases ; 
I'd do it with dynamite were I a man — 
No, no ! I'll die easy by some other plan, 

And not leave my corpse all in pieces. 

" I'll ask the French druggist, just over the way, 

For something to poison the cat. 
The gripings and spasms are dreadful, they say, 
And poison I'll take without any delay, 

Though it do puff me up like a rat. 

" Oh, tell me, thou prince of all druggists and leechers, 

What poison you keep in this place 
For rats, those unhappy — I mean pesky creatures, 
To let them die easy, not puff up their features, 

Nor make them turn black in the face ? " 

" Ah, madam, I geeve you ze grandest powdaire 

Zat make ze rat sweetaire ven deat ; 
Zo mooch you feel sorry you keel him, by gaire ! 
Ze rat die so zgently, you see him you svear 

He vas only asleep in ze bet ! 



56 THE JEALOUS WIFE. 

" Vaire small, leetal pinch eez a close ; vat you geef 

Depend on ze size of ze rat. 
Ze rat, ven he leetal, eez vaire sen-sa-tief ; 
Von bieg rat, deesconsolate, no vish to lief, 

Zjust gief him a teaspoon of zat." 

At home in her chamber the poison she took, 

And rolling in agony lay, 
When John, coming back for that coat on the hook, 
Fast mounted the stairs, with an agonized look 

Where his wife groaned in sweet disarray. 

" Why, Mame, what's the matter ? " " O John ! pray 
explain 
These letters I found in your coat ? " 
" That coat was my partner's, worn home in the rain ! " 
" Not yours ? Quick ! I'm poisoned ! 'tis racking my 
brain ! 
To the druggist — get some antidote ! " 

To the druggist he rushed — " Sir, you've poisoned my 
Mame." 

Said the Frenchman : — " Keep on ze apparel ! 
She vant ze rat poison — but I know ze game — 
Vat don't black ze face of ze rat ? Ven she came 
Ze powdaire of sugaire I gave ! All ze same 

She will lief eef she eat ze whole barrel ! " 



"BIRDS OF A FEATHER." 57 



"BIRDS OF A FEATHER." 

Underneath the shady willow 
Resting on a grassy pillow, 

Slept a maiden fair. 
Overhead a sparrow swinging, 
On the graceful branches clinging, 
To the maiden pertly singing, 

" Sweet one, have a care ! " 

Sang the goldfinch to the maiden, 
Every note with love words laden, 

" Let the beauty sleep ! 
Though her eyes are under cover 
She can see her precious lover ; 
Dreams he's near and thinking of her : 

See the blushes creep ! " 

Spoke the little chickadee : 
" I'll pretend that I am he. 

Down to her I'll fly ! 
Give her pretty nose a tweak, 
Rub my wing against her cheek, 
Softly, like a mustache sleek ; 

That will ope her eye." 

" Pretty creature ! " said the robin. 
" I will set her heart a-throbbin'. 

I am used to this. 
Lips as rosy as a berry, 
I know how to pick a cherry, 
Make her think it is her Jerry 

Come to steal a kiss." 



58 "BIRDS OF A FEATHER." 

Said the catbird, " I object ! 
Pretty maidens I protect ! 

Kiss her ? No, you shan't ! 
Make a scene right here before us ? 
Folks '11 wonder what's come o'er us : 
Better wake her with a chorus ; 
Let's all join a chant ! " 

" Such a clamor is a pity ! 
Let me sing a tender ditty," 

Said the little wren. 
" Sing her something soft and pleasing; 
After that a little teasing, 
Give her hand a little squeezing, 

Like the naughty men ! 



Here's the golden-throated lark 



Coming, with a message. Hark ! 

What a heavenly tune : " 
" Through the buttercups so yellow 
I have seen this handsome fellow 
Coming with his heart right mellow ; 

Now we'll watch 'em spoon ! " 

Sang the redbird, " What a treat ! 
I must pick me out a seat ; 

Too-ri-loo-ri-loo ! 
I can watch 'em through the leaves. 
Strange a maiden never grieves 
At the many she receives, 

When one kiss should do ! " 

Sang the little queen canary : 
" There's no need to be contrary ; 
Lips were made to eat ! 



THE PASTOR'S WOOING. 59 

Words were never made to utter 
When the heart is in a flutter, 
That's why lovers always stutter — 

' Love is v-v-very s\v-sw-sweet! ' " 

All began to smile and wink ; 
" Stop it ! " cried the bobolink, 

" Pass around a few ! 
All is true that we have heard ; 
Man makes love just like a bird ; 
Takes a kiss at every word, 
Sometimes taking two." 



THE PASTOR'S WOOING. 

THEY considered the pastor a trifle too young 
For the staid congregation he'd settled among; 
Yet the deacon admitted he never had heard 
Such a natural reading of Holy Word : — 
'Twas the voice of the soul with the tone of a bell ; 

And the verdict so just 

Was taken in trust 
By the good deacon's beautiful daughter, Nell. 

The handsome young pastor was modest, devout ; 
Always treading the path which he pointed them out 
But the best of his sermons, by common accord, 
Was an able discourse on the love of the Lord ; 
And he treated the subject remarkably well — 

But his thoughts often ran 

On the love of a man — 
On the love of a clergyman young, for Nell 



60 THE PASTOR'S WOOING. , 

His sermons grew tender and so did his heart ; 
Shooting arrows of truth, yet receiving the dart 
From the soft eyes of Nell, with their aim doublefold ; 
Thus love made him timid where faith made him bold ; 
And the secret remained which he never dared tell ; 

He could preach well, and pray, 

If his heart would but stay 
In the pulpit, and not in the pew there with Nell. 

His preaching became such a labor of love, 

With its constant communion below and above ; 

While he sat in the pulpit, ere service begun, 

With his head on his hand as is commonly done, 

If he peeped through his fingers, why no one could tell ; 

Though he knew it was human 

To gaze on fair woman, 
He deemed it not wicked to gaze upon Nell. 

For the youth of his flock he was fervent in prayer ; 
But one morning in church certain gossips declare — 
By a slip of the tongue, by an error of speech, 
Though the pastor undoubtedly meant to beseech 
The good Lord to keep all the young men from — well — 

That eternal shade, 

He certainly prayed 
The good Lord to keep all the young men from Nell. 

To consult him on matters of Church and of State, 
As we term a church fair and no truth violate, 
Nell had called at the study — the door stood ajar, 
The pastor was kneeling, as often they are ; 
She could not retreat without breaking the spell ; 
' With her eyes on the floor, 
Waiting there at the door, 
Like a vision of love stood the beautiful Nell. 



THE PASTOR'S WOOING. 61 

He was praying for all, but as one might infer, 
Grew most eloquent when he was pleading for her ! 
Why he singled her out she could not understand, 
Till she heard him ask God for her heart and her hand. 
No petition ere suited a maiden so well — 

It is piety rare 

When Cupid's at prayer — 
For he told to his God what he should have told Nell. 

As angels appeared to the sainted of yore, 
She knelt by his side on the carpeted floor ; 
Put her soft hand in his as a silent " Amen ! " 
He soon found the vision was mortal — and then 
He, blushing, caressed her, nor could she rebel, 

For was she not there 

In answer to prayer ? 
Thus God joined together the pastor and Nell. 

It was heaven to him gazing into her eyes, 
It was heaven to him with the blue of the skies; 
In the thought of an angel becoming his bride, 
He forgot all the angels but her at his side ; 
And love's sweet forgetfulness over them fell 

Till she said : " I declare, 

We forget the Church Fair ! " 
He replied : " I'm now holding the fair — holding Nell !" 



62 FOREIGNERS AT THE FAIR. 



FOREIGNERS AT THE FAIR. 

Said the Englishman : " Wat's all this bloomin' wow ? 

An w'ere is Chicago, anyhow ? 

I've 'eard abeout yo'r Columbian show ; 

An' abeout yo'r Columbus, don' cher know ! 

The Prince infawmed me that 'e was the cove 

Who discovahd yo'r blawsted ceountry, bah Jove ! 

An' cwossed the wahtaw, His 'Ighness tells, 

In three little chocolate caramels ! " 

Then Italy spoke : " Greata beega show ! 
I sella da banan', catch da mon' to go ! 
I tella da peopl' I wasa descend 
From Colombo ; dey scratcha da nose on da end ! 
Man Christof Colomb' was a greata man : 
He discova da world for d' American. 
But they draga to preeson, chain lika da dog, 
When Is'bella find out he discova Chicag' ! " 

" Hoot, lad ! I'm fra Scootlan', but canna find oot, 
Fra yer garlicky tongue what ye're ta'kin' aboot ! 
Ef ye canna spak English, an' spak withoot flaw, 
As I do mysel', dinna spak it at a' ! 
Ye'll not mak' musicians by turnin' a crank ; 
Till ye learn on the bagpipe ye'll niver take rank. 
To discoover the counthree, Columbus did well, 
But ye're sp'ilin' it a', comin' over yersel' ! " 

" Wal, I'rn from the wild an' the woolly West ; 
An' thar's jist one thing I wanter suggest : 
That yo' call this y'ar the Chicago Fair, 
An' not the Corlumbian ! Neow take care ! 
Fur this is the biggest city on earth, 
Ef yo' take it in height, er take it in girth ; 



FOREIGNERS AT THE FAIR. 63 

We're growin' so fast we've got ter make 
A petition that Providence move the lake." 

"You vas beat the veorld ! " said the traveling Jew; 

" You vas on der beat — I vas onto you ! 

It vas called der ' Vindy Cidy,' I know, 

Because der beoble vas on der blow. 

Der greatest cidy for hogs un' porok ! 

Dat's vy der Hebrew remains in Ny-Yorok. 

I discover dis fact ven I pays my bill — 

You vas keep some hogs vich you neffer kill ! " 

" It's wuth a heap, stranger, 'twixt me an' yeou, 

A-gittin' the best of a New York Jew ! 

We've got the push, an' we've got the go ; 

An' we're showin' New York how a city should grow. 

We taught them dude Knickerbockers a trick 

By gittin' the Fair, an' a-gittin' 'er slick ; 

An' a-bringin' 'er up to the present stage — 

'Twas the greatest feat of the modern age ! " 

Said Patrick : " I've heard all about yer big feet ! 
But Oi'll not mintion that ef ye'll promise to treat ! 
They charged me fur wather out here at the Fair ; 
Oi've been howldin' me breath lest they charge me fur air. 
But why they should wish to be fillin' the land 
Wid those half-grown Oitalians, I can't understhand ; 
They discovered the counthry at others' expinse ; 
But they niver discovered a single thing since." 

" You'll excuse me, Cunnel, ef I use my mouf, 
I'se a cullud gemman fum away down Souf. 
I was nuffin' but a niggah befo' de wah ; 
But now I rides in de palace caw ! 



64 THE MIRACLE OF CAN A. 

Who say Marse C'lumbus done 'scovah dees earf ? 
Don' yo' know dey was Injuns heah on de turf, 
A-raisin' terbac' an' de Injun cawn, 
Befo' Marse C'lumbus he gwine to be bawn." 

" I'm ze French gentlemon' ! I come ovair to see 

Ze Fair, an' ze statue of French Libairtee: 

I ask ze bronze Lady, weez smile debonair, 

Vich enlighten ze voorld an' ze way to ze Fair, 

How she like ze great peopal ? Vair well, but, my face, 

Turn black 'ven I try me to speak ze Englais ! 

Mon Dieu ! what a countree zes would have become 

Ef discovair by Frenchman instead of Colomb' ! " 

" Me heap sabe you ! You heap sabe me, 

Me Melican-citizen-heathen-Chinee : 

Me heap sabe C'lumbus ; him velley smart man — 

No sabe lay egg — heap sabe makee stan'. 

Heap sabe George Washman ; him velley lenoun' ; 

No likee climb chelly tlee, heap cut 'em down. 

Me alle same 'Washman,' him ' Georgee,' me 'John,' 

Him tellee no lie, gottee pigtail on." 



THE MIRACLE OF CANA. 

The waterpots were filled at God's behest ; 
Yet in the marriage wine no grape was pressed ! 
No tired feet the weary wine press trod 
To make this sacred vintage of our God ! 
As nature doth proclaim a power divine, 
Each drop of moisture turned itself to wine. 

In spite of arguments in Jesus met, 

The world is full of doubting skeptics yet ; 



THE MIRACLE OF CAN A. 65 

Believing naught in heaven or earth divine, 
They doubt this miracle of Palestine ; 
They find the Holy Bible filled with flaws, 
And pin their doubting faith to Nature's laws. 

Ye scoffers of our sacred Lord, pray tell 
Who tinted first the water in the well? 
Who painted atmospheric moisture blue ? 
And gave the rcean waves their constant hue? 
Whose moisture raised in clouds all colors lack ; 
The fleecy ones so white, the storm king black, 
Save where the evening sun's bright rays incline 
To turn this fleecy moisture into wine, 
And lay a benediction on them all 
Like purple grapes hung on a golden wall? 
'Twas thus our Lord a sacred radiance shed, 
Slow turning Cana's water vintage red. 

If lilies at His bidding from the soil 
Spring up, that neither know to spin nor toil; 
In beauty yet more gorgeously arrayed 
Than he of old who that great temple made, 
Then why may not the gentle evening's dew, 
At God's command take on a ruddy hue? 

This whirling, surging world was made by One 
Who might have made the wine as rivers run ; 
Yet put a sweeter nectar in the rills, 
Fresh rippling from the vintage of the hills. 

Watch Nature's miracle when clay is dead, 
And blushing Helios, his good-night said, 
Slow dipping his hot face in cooling brine, 
Turns all the ocean billows into wine. 



66 THE MILLER'S MAID. 

The sun and rain stretch o'er the earth a bow, 
With tints more beautiful than wine can show ; 
A frescoed arch in gorgeous colors seven — 
A bridge where weak belief may walk to heaven. 

Sometimes, athwart a sunset on the plain, 
A passing storm cloud drops its ruby rain, 
Because a God, whose face is hid from view, 
Lets just a little glory filter through 
This great libation poured at Nature's shrine 
To fill Sol's golden cup with evening wine. 

Since Nature doth such miracles perform 
Why may not He who makes and rules the storm, 
Of all His miracles the first and least, 
Tint a few drops for Cana's wedding feast ? 

The greatest marriage at the end shall be 

When Time is wedded to Eternity ! 

All bidden are, the greatest and the least, 

To taste the wine at heaven's great wedding feast ! 

Where all the ransomed universe shall sing, 

Hosanna ! to the everlasting King ! 



THE MILLER'S MAID. 

/ 
Nature, ever fickle jade, 

Squandered treasure on the Maid 

Of the Mill ; 
Gave her eyes of such rare blue 
That her soul kept peeping through, 

" Will-he-nill." 
On his handsome chestnut-brown 
Sat the heir of half the town, 



THE MILLER'S MAID. 67 

Reining in his horse enchanted with the vision on the 

hill; 

Fresh from college halls was he ; 

Fell in love ? — Well, let me see — 

But the story's told much sweeter by the Maiden of the 

Mill! 

" But he knew not what to say, 
So he asked of me the way 

To the mill ; 
It was just to make me speak, 
For it stood there by the creek 

'Neath the hill ! 
It is difficult to frown 
On such loving eyes and brown, 
So I raised my arm and pointed just a moment down the 
hill; 
All he did was stand and stare 
At my plump arms white and bare, 
Till I had to doubt this handsome fellow's business at 
the mill ! 

" ' Since you have no grist to grind 

Why so anxious, sir, to find 
Father's mill ? 

But the mill you'll never see 

While you stand and gaze at me — 
Think you will ? ' 

Then I thought I heard him say, 

As he threw a kiss this way : 
' I think I see the building at the bottom of the hill ! ' 

But I threw his kisses back 

While I bade him get a sack 
And take his many kisses to be ground up at the mill ! 



6S THE CALIFORNIA FLEA. 

" Now he brings a grist each day 
Which he never takes away 

From the mill. 
When I ask the reason why 
He will smile and make reply : 

' When you will ! ' 
It is plain as plain can be 
By his grist he's meaning me, 
For my heart is ground up finer than the corn within the 
mill; 
And he says, his gold he'll share 
For the gold that's in my hair ! 
Will 1 wed him ? Well, I'm human, and I rather think 
I will ! " 



THE CALIFORNIA FLEA. 

The California flea may be termed the insect clown or merry-maker, for, 
although the cause of universal annoyance, he is the source of more amuse- 
ment and laughter than all other insects together. Let one of a company 
of friends be annoyed by a flea and the fact is immediately discovered by 
the others from the restless twisting, turning, and wriggling ; whereupon 
the laugh begins. Even in church, if you shrug a shoulder or catch your 
sleeve as if to turn something over, everyone knows you are troubled by a 
flea. This mischievous little pest is omnipresent, and never quiet except 
when overfed, or when its feet and legs get tangled in a woolen garment or 
blanket. The flea is caught between the thumb and forefinger, which 
have been previously moistened to enable one to hold him, for unless the 
greatest care is taken he will jump away. 

By " Forty-niners " is meant those early pioneers who went to California 
in the gold excitement in 1849. 

A tiny jumping apple seed, 
That doth on saint and sinner feed 
With equal relish, equal greed, 

Born of assurance ; 
An appetite beyond his need 

And our endurance. 



THE CALIFORNIA FLEA. 69 

When Eve the famous apple ate, 
The seeds began to propagate ; 
And like a dire avenging fate, 

With instinct human, 
Have, since that very ancient date, 

Been eating woman. 

This pretty little parasite 
Will keep a body in a plight : 
At first he'll tickle, then he'll bite, 

While each relation 
Hops round as though his sole delight 

Was recreation. 

The precious maiden, sweet and fair, 
Will twist and wriggle in her chair, 
Regardless of the presence there 

Of friend or lover : 
She grabs the flea, ere he's aware, 

And turns him over. 

It's little matter where you are, 
That hungry flea is always " thar." 
E'en while you ride the cable car 

He keeps on walking; 
He's bound to travel just as far 

Beneath your stocking; 

A misery that rarely shows, 

For you're the only one that knows ; 

It being just beneath your clothes, 

You cannot catch it ; 
The bite's the least of all your woes — 

You dare not scratch it. 



7© THE CALIFORNIA FLEA. 

While sitting quietly in church 
They creep about you in the search 
Of ticklish point on which to perch 

And then slide back, 
As frisky boys with sudden lurch 

Slide down a stack. 

The pious deacon bows his chin, 
Repeating Adam's primal sin ; 
But ere he fairly can begin 

His day's devotion, 
This little devil bites his skin 

To change his notion. 

In church the righteous flea is given 
To fasting six days out of seven ; 
The play-house flea, fed every even, 

Is not so needy — 
Thus man against his will is driven 

Where they're less greedy. 

A woman is the most abused ; 

Just when you think she's most amused, 

She'll sweetly beg to be excused. 

And quick retire 
To some apartment then unused, 

For vengeance dire. 

Although you're very entertaining, 
Don't censure her for not remaining ; 
Some miseries are past explaining ; 

Wait patiently, 
She'll come, her wonted smile regaining, 

Minus a flea. 



THE CALIFORNIA FLEA. 71 

No living thing can jump as high ; 
Far quicker than a woman's eye ; 
He's bound to prove an alibi, 

And never lingers 
To let man catch him, though he try 

With moistened fingers. 

You'll never catch him in the bed, 
Unless, perchance, he's overfed, 
Or tangled in the woolen spread. 

Mind how you trust him ; 
Pinch how you will he's never dead 

Until you " bust " him. 

Our native flea no better thrives 
Than when the " tenderfoot " arrives ; 
At first the stranger thinks it's hives, 

Then grows dejected, 
Blaming those bugs that spend their lives 

In beds neglected. 

Next day he's forced to change his mind, 
Yet dares not look for fear hell find 
An insect of a meaner kind, 

That's ever toiling 
Some lazy soldier to remind 

His shirt needs boiling. 

These strangers say the strangest things : 
"Why, your mosquito has no wings ! 
All through the night he bites and stings 

Till early morning, 
Yet out of meanness never sings 

To give us warning ! " 



72 THE CALIFORNIA FLEA. 

At first all strangers blush with shame 
Until they find this doubtful game 
Infesting all mankind the same — 

Black or Circassian. 
How soon small vices lose their name 

When they're in fashion ! 

As yon policeman he will stray 
Around your suburbs night and day, 
Stopping betimes where'er he may 

To take a " nip," 
But when you want him he's away — 

You've got the slip. 

Our lawyers strange emotions trace 
Upon the Judge's mobile face, 
Believing they have won their case 

In " Common Pleas," 
To find 'twas owing to a brace 

Of common fleas. 

Our Seal of State : A maiden fair, 
Enthroned beside a grizzly bear, 
" Eureka " blazoned on the air, 

With stars around it, 
Which means, as people are aware, 

The flea, " I've found it." 

The " Forty-niner " stroked his breast- 
" Contented here my soul shall rest 
If this uneasy little pest, 

This ' pioneer,' 
And ' Native Son of the Golden West,' 
Don't interfere ! " 



THE FUNERAL OF THE MOUNTAINS. 73 

E'en now, as certain symptoms show, — 

A restless moving to and fro, — 

There's something troubling you, I know; 

You've got a flea. 
If you'll excuse me, friends, I'll go — 

There's one on me. 



THE FUNERAL OF THE MOUNTAINS. 

MOURN, Great McGregor, mourn ! Thou youngest of 

The mountains newly born, bow down thy head 

And weep into the valley rivulets 

Of tears. Draw 'round thee close thy somber, dark, 

And heavy robe of pines. It is thy cloak 

Of mourning and thy crape ; thou hast most need 

To mourn, being most blessed. But yesterday 

Thou wert unknown and insignificant ; 

To-day thou art immortal made because 

Thou art the death-bed of our loved Grant — 

Because the Nation's hero made of thee 

A stepping-stone to heaven. 

Thou art become 
The country's shrine, where weeping Liberty 
Hath come to shed her tears. Around thy base 
Is marshaled that innumerable host 
Of soldiers slain in Freedom's cause, and with 
Them is the silent throng in gray — with heads 
Uncovered all, beneath one flag that droops 
Fresh wet with heaven's tears, the dew. Those coats 
Which once were blue have faded into gray ; 
Grave-ashes give one color to them all. 
Their guns all stacked, within the silent wood 



74 THE FUNERAL OF THE MOUNTAINS. 

They stretch their phantom tents in bivouac weird — 
A specter guard — Grand Army of the dead ! 
Thy cooling breeze hath kissed his fevered cheek 
These long, long waiting hours so gratefully ; 
Thy sentry pines swayed with the fleeting pulse 
And whispered undisturbingly : " All's Well ! " 
When all was o'er, their wailing message went 
Along the clouds, that fleecy telephone, 
To Lookout Mount, whose rusty cannons' boom 
Seemed like the toiling clock of destiny 
Slow striking Sixty-three. 

For such an one 
No common sepulture ! Be thou his bier, 
His catafalque ! Let battle-mountains make 
His fun'ral train ! Call Lookout from the clouds, 
With Mission Ridge, Ball's Bluff and Malvern Hill, 
South Mountain, Champion Hill, Great Cumberland, 
Pea Ridge, and those that shut in Gettysburg ; 
With Rural Hill and Drury's Bluff, the heights 
Of Maryland and Harper's Ferry walls, 
With those that frown on Shenandoah's plain ; 
Each hill where war hath plowed great furrows up — 
Each slope with human abatis of slain — 
Each mound where fiery battle-steeds have pranced, 
Impatient of the smoke. E'en that small knoll 
At Appomattox, where Rebellion gave 
Its saber up and Slavery made her tomb : 
Let heaven, muffling up her thunder drum, 
Sound reveille, to summon all to this 
Great funeral. In military line, 
Procession make with solemn obsequies ; 
While ocean waves on either shore, in great 
Sabaoth, Triste Vale chant. 



JENNIE, 75 

With pick 
And spade think not to make thy hero's bed ! 
In Donelson's firm walls impregnable 
His mausoleum make — fit catacomb — 
And soldier-like, wrapped in his country's flag, 
There let him hold the fort for evermore. 

Take shattered cannon from the battle-field, 
Well moulten in hot Sumter's crucible, 
And cast a monument o'er-topping that 
Of Liberty enlightening the world ; 
And on its base inscribe with saber point — 
" Our hero dead, who never battle lost, 
To heaven surrendered unconditional." 



JENNIE. 

" The sweetest lass in all the land 

Is Jennie, Jennie, Jennie ! " 
Said Robin as he held each hand, 

Too many, many, many ! 
'Twas in the lane, the fence was high ; 
There was no room to pass him by ; 
He held my wings, I could not fly ; 

Not any, any, any. 

" How many sweethearts have you, pray, 

Sweet Jennie, Jennie, Jennie ? " 
The rogue within me bade me say — 

" Not many, many, many ! " 
But when I found it grieved the youth, 
I could no longer hide the truth, 
And said, not many was, forsooth, 
Not any, any, any ! 



76 SHALL BESS COME HA ME? 

He said : " And would one sweetheart be 

Too many, many, many ? 
Could you accept of one like me, 

My Jennie, Jennie, Jennie ? " 
Let others think whate'er they may, 
When Robin took my heart away 
I had no heart to tell him nay, 

Not any, any, any ! 

Although I never said he could 

Take any, any, any, 
He did just what I thought he would — 

Kiss Jennie, Jennie, Jennie ! 
My lips were closed, I could not add, 
Nor count the kisses of the lad, 
And yet I hardly think he had 

Too many, many, many ! 



SHALL BESS COME HAME ? 

" Pray tell me where ye've been sae lang, guid Nan ; 
Hae ye been aff to town withoot yer man ? " 

" Ah, John, and can ye ask where I hae been — 
Where should a mither go but to her kin ? " 

" What, to the bairn that's gi'en o'er to ill — 
How could ye bear to gang against my will ? " 

" By life-lang watch-care doth a mither earn 
The right, nae matter where, to seek her bairn !" 

" That's true, guid Nan, I lay nae fau't agin ye, 
Except the ower-lovin' heart that's in ye ; 



SHALL BESS COME HAME? 77 

" That takes ye oot o' doors to succor sin ; 
Wi' De'il ootside ye'd better stay within. 

" A faither once forsaken by his ain — 
His tender heart as quickly turns to stane ; 

" As ower the garden wa' I throw the weed, 
I cast her forth, nae matter how ye plead ! " 

" Yer stubborn mind, John, turns your heart to scorn — 
Ye've thrown awa' the plant and left the thorn ! 

" Why, vices are but virtues playin' traitor ; 
Man but the tainted stamp o' his Creator ! 

" Was not the De'il an angel once hirnsel'? 
Had he no' played the traitor he'd no' fell ! 

" 'Mang those o'er-righteous Jews, Christ found not one 
Who dared to raise the hand or cast a stone ; 

" Not only uncondemned, but a' forgiven, 
Was human frailty by the Lord o' heaven. 

" Take hame the truth, for ye can ill afford 
To be more unforgivin' than your Lord ; 

" To shut the door o' mercy is na well ; 
Ye shut the door o' heaven agin yersel' ! " 

" Guid Nan, yer speeches make my heart full sair; 
I do forgive, I pray ye say nae mair ! " 

" To say ye will forgive and na forget, 
Is holdin' mair than half yer anger yet. 



78 SHALL BESS COME HAME? 

" Tis in the night, wi' ither senses still, 

The heart will speak and speak withoot the will ; 

" I heard ye in yer sleep the ither night 
A-talkin' what ye felt wi' a' yer might ; 

" Yer will had gane to sleep wi' bitter word ; 
Yer heart unguarded spake, and this I heard : 

" ' Come back, my pretty bairn, where'er ye be — 
Yer broken-hearted faith er's callin' ye ! ' 

" Yer heart sobbed oot the truth yer will denied, 
And spake wi' tears, for a' the night ye cried. 

" Wi' that I sought the lass in yonder town, 
Where that smooth city chap had set her down ! 

" Could'st see her, John, as soon I hope ye may, 
Ye wouldna have the heart to turn away ; 

" For on my neck the lass did sob and moan : 
' O mither, mither, had I only known ! 

" ' I didna know the things were wrong,' said she, 
' The pleasing stranger sweetly said to me ! ' 

" She sits and thinks, and weepin' wi' her thought, 
Bewails a fault because she was untaught." 

" To think, guid Nan, that we should raise a daughter 
To gang amiss for a' that we hae taught her ! " 

" The fault's our ain, dear John, we must admit ; 
To see a danger's half avoidin' it. 



SHALL BESS COME HAME? 79 

" We taught her what was right, but a' along 
We never told the lass just what was wrong." 

" Ah, Nan, that a' the preachers had yer skill 
To bring sae muckle guid from every ill ! 

" Now look ye, wife, this makes me doubly sad : 
She slighted Reuben, sic an honest lad ! " 

" Ah, John, he's kinder to yer bairn than you ; 
'Twas he that took me to her, he that knew ; 

" He ne'er gave ower searchin' a' aboot — 
'Twas only love like his could search her oot." 

" If that be true, nor may I doubt the same, 
Where'er she be, our Bess sha' soon come hame! 

" Why, Nan, if Reuben love her as at first, 
I fear the faither's heart wi' joy will burst." 

" Ah, John, he loves her mair than I can tell, 
He's comin' now to say as much himsel' ! " 

For Bess and Reuben had been waiting there 
At open door behind the old man's chair. 

" Ah, Reuben, Reuben, welcome, welcome, boy ! 
Ye rob me o' my grief wi' double joy ! 

" I was intent upon the mither's talk, 
And didna hear ye comin' up the walk ; 

" Or were you standin' quiet there ootside, 
To hear the mither pleadin' for yer bride ? 



80 SHALL BESS COME HAME? 

" I know ye've come to ask me for my Bess^ 
Don't say me nay, 'twould leave her faitherless. 

" To rob me o' my joy — I couldna' bear 
To sink again into my old despair ! 

" How can an old man keep his will at a' — 
Wi' coaxin' wife and sic a son-in-law ? 

" For that I'll make ye 'fore anither day 
And gie the lass nae chance to run away. 

" But she'll no' run away agin frae you — 
One taste o' grief for sic as Bess wih do ! 

" For a' the woe she'll better love the weal, 
And truer be for havin' seen the De'il ! 

" I'll to the town and fetch the wanderin' one, 
Then gie the farm and Bess for sic a son. 

" When I hae brought her let nae tear be seen, 
And speak nae censure, for she comes forgi'en. 

" Before I gang we'll pray the Lord above 
To gie me back my ain — my Bessie's love." 

He closed his eyes as blue-bells close at even, 

And calmly raised his sun-brown face toward heaven 

To plead more earnestly " wi' Him aboon " : 
Or else to keep the tears from " tricklin' doon " ; 

" O Lord, forgive a faither a' his blame, 

And let his Bess — his only bairn — come hame ! " 



BAREFOOTED AFTER THE COWS. 8 1 

The mother, kneeling, little minds his prayer, 
And Reuben, too, on t'other side the chair; 

They beckon Bess, who listens at the door, 
Her heart is full and she can wait no more ; 

Knowing her welcome, comes without their beck, 
To put her arms around her father's neck ; 

And softly stealing in with step unheard, 

With sweetest kiss on earth she stops his word ! 

Whereby her loving father knew her then, 

Nor oped his eyes, nor stopped to say — " Amen ! " 

" God love thee ! 'tis my Bess come back to me ; 
I darena look for fear it isna thee ! 

" And I'm sae full o' joy I dinna know 
If I'm in heaven above or heaven below ! 

" I'm wi' my angel and I dinna care — 

Bess is come hame in answer to my prayer !" 



BAREFOOTED AFTER THE COWS. 

" The boys " had come back to the farm, 
That ever through life bears a charm ; 
And though we were all sturdy men, 
We thought to live over again 
The days when we halloed and hooted, 
And ran down the pasture barefooted ; 
We stole out of childhood a day, 
And filled it up brimful of play. 



82 BAREFOOTED AFTER THE COWS. 

The pond and the swift skimming swallow ; 
The wood where the owl used to hollo — 
Who-oo ! who-oo ! 

The barn full of hay 

Where many a day 
We tumbled down over the mows. 
The grass in the meadow was growing, 
The cows in the meadow were lowing — 
Mo-oo ! mo-oo ! 

Ah, life has no joy 

Like that of a boy 
Running barefooted after the cows ! 

We ate of the apples that fell 

From the harvest tree over the well ; 

For never in life could we meet 

With apples that seemed half so sweet ; 

Nor water had we ever tasted 

Like that which the spring ever wasted ; 

For God made the vintage to flow 

From the winepress of pebbles below. 

The pond and the swift skimming swallow; 
The wood where the owl used to hollo — 
Who-oo ! who-oo! 

The barn full of hay 

Where many a day 
We tumbled down over the mows. 
The grass in the meadow was growing, 
The cows in the meadow were lowing — 
Mo-oo ! mo-oo ! 

Ah, life has no joy 

Like that of a boy 
Running barefooted after the cows ! 



BAREFOOTED AFTER THE COWS. 83 

The squirrel so proud of his tail, 
The chipmunk, who travels by rail, 
The blackbird, the robin, the jay — 
Each gave us a greeting that day. 
The pastimes of boyhood we courted 
In places where once we had sported, 
And when the old dinner horn blew 
We felt the old hunger anew. 

The pond and the swift skimming swallow ; 
The wood where the owl used to hollo — 
Who-00 ! who-00 ! 

The barn full of hay 

Where many a day 
We tumbled down over the mows. 
The grass in the meadow was growing, 
The cows in the meadow were lowing — 
Mo-00 ! mo-00 ! 

Ah, life has no joy 

Like that of a boy 
Running barefooted after the cows ! 

'Twas more like enacting a dream ! 
We waded and fished in the stream, 
Which somehow looked shallow and small, 
Nor did the old trees seem as tall. 
Each idol of boyhood seemed shattered, 
And even the kingfisher clattered — 
" No power can bring back the joys 
Of childhood to overgrown boys." 

Not the same was the pond nor the swallow. 
The wood where the owl used to hollo, 
Who-00 ! Who-00 ! 



84 THE FROG AND THE FRENCHMAN. 

The barn full of hay- 
Seemed smaller that day 

We tumbled down over the mows. 

New grass in the meadow was growing, 

Strange cows in the meadow were lowing — 
Mo-oo! Mo-oo! 
We felt not the joys, 
We were not the' boys 

Who ran barefooted after the cows. 



THE FROG AND THE FRENCHMAN. 

WHEN the grass comes slowly creeping 
O'er the meadows, in good keeping 

With the spring, 
Then appears the early peeper, 
Who, to lull the wanton sleeper, , 

'Gins to sing. 

Formerly, he used to sail 
By the motion of his tail, 

When pollywog ; 
But he lost that institution, 
In the course of evolution 

To the frog. 

Such a cunning little fellow, 
With his breast a greenish-yellow ; 

He will go 
Tuning up that voice unfailing, 
As young roosters, when first tailing, 

Try to crow. 



THE FROG AND THE FRENCHMAN. 85 

On a lily-pad he'll teeter, 

And maintain he sings much sweeter 

Than a bird ; , 
A canary — the last feather 
Washed away by rainy weather, 

Take his word ; 

So absurd. 

When he grows a little sweeter, 
Epicurean frog-eater 

Always begs 
That his deft and agile henchman 
Will go catch this tender Frenchman, 

For his legs. 

So he hies him to the pond 
Or the eddy just beyond, 

In the creek, 
Where he finds the full-grown frog 
Basking on a cozy log ; 

Hear him speak : 

" Greek meets Greek ! 

Chug-a-reek ! 

" I'm suspicious of your nation, 
Though I like your conversation : 

Parlez-vous ? 
But if you are not polite, sir, 
I'll jump quickly out of sight, sir, 

Entre-nous / 

Ckug-a-roo I 

" Do you think, oh, simple sinner, 
You will catch a Sunday dinner 
With a bug ? 



&6 THE FROG AND THE FRENCHMAN. 

Regardez / Begin to banter 
With red rag, I'm gone instant er; 

Chug-a-rug ! 

Chug-a-rug ! 

" Shrug your shoulders well, monsieur, 
There's no use to make detour, 

I know your game. 
I'm content to parlez-vous, 
If my broken French will do, 
But I'll keep an eye on you, 

All the same, 

Chug-a-rame ! 

" Like the Premiere Danseuse, 
A fat frog is of no use, 

Save his limb ; 
So like ' sprinter ' on his pegs, 
I had better stretch my legs, 

Nice and trim, 

For a swim, 

Chug-a-rim ! 

In the brink 

Don't you think? 

Chug-a-rink / 

Chug-a-rink ! 

Chug-a-rink / 

" Were I cooked and on a plate, 
You would have a tete-a-tite, 

Avec amour, 
With fair lady vis-a-vis ; 
Two is pleasant companee, 
Always spoiled by number three. 

So, Bonjour ! " 






THREE LULLABYS. 87 

" Ze same to you ! " 
" Taisez-vous ! " 
" Parbleu ! " 
" Chug-a-roo I 
Hu-htt-hoo ! " 



THREE LULLABYS. 

In days gone by when a baby I, 

And mother's fond heart was young, 
Upon her breast she laid me to rest, 

And rocking me, sweetly sung ; 
Thus to and fro, with a song I know 

That hadn't a touch of art, 
Sleep closed the eye with a lullaby 
That came from a mother's heart 
Lullaby, lullaby, rock-a-by baby, 
Lullaby, lullaby, rock-a-by dear ; 
Sweet be thy slumber, my darling, my baby ; 
Angels are watching and mother is near ! 

The days went by and a little one I, 

With Dolly upon my knee, 
I sang the air, in my rocking chair, 

That mother had sung to me. 
Then laid her down in her little nightgown, 

Tucked in with a mother's care, 
To close her eye with a lullaby, 
Soon after her dolly prayer ; 

Lullaby, lullaby, rock-a-by baby, 
Lullaby, lullaby, rock-a-by dear ; 
Sweet be thy slumber, my darling, my baby ; 
Angels are watching and mother is near ! 



88 



THE NEW BABY. 



The years rolled by, and a maiden I ; 

Dear mother had passed away. 
Upon her breast, like a babe at rest, 

A pretty white rosebud lay. 
Her hands crossed so — till it seemed as though 

She thought she were holding me. 
Death closed her eye with a lullaby, 
To wake in eternity. 

Lullaby, lullaby, rock-a-by baby, 
Lullaby, lullaby, rock-a-by dear ; 
Sweet be thy slumber, my darling, my baby 
Angels are watching and mother is near ! 



THE NEW BABY. 

Tind friends, I pray extuse me 

From matin' any speech, 
Betause I is so 'ittle 

I ain't dot much for each ; 
There aint much edutation 

In such a 'ittle head ; 
Besides, I is so s'eepy 

An' wants to do to bed. 



But when it turns my bedtime, 

My mamma leaves a light 
To teep off all the booboos 

Wat visit in the night. 
My mamma alius worries 

For fear I'll dit a cough, 
An' ties down all the bedc'ose 

Betause I ticks 'em off. 



THE NEW BABY. 89 

She says I'm awful westless 

Like dranpa's 'ittle nag, 
An' if I don't s'eep quiet 

She'll tie me in a bag ! 
She's found anuzzer baby 

Dat's noisier than I, 
Betause it don't do noffin' 

But stay in bed an' cwy. 

She found it in the garret ; 

I dess it's dumb an' deef ; 
It's such a funny tolor, 

An' aint dot any teef ; 
An' aint dot any eyebrows, 

An' aint dot any hair ; 
In fact, it aint dot noffin, 

Nor any shoes to wear. 

Tis all wapped up in flannel, 

An' tovered head an' ears, 
An' alius cwys for noffin' 

An' aint dot any tears ! 
I thought of tourse 'twas hungry, 

An' dave it citron-cake ; 
It cwyed then more than ever — 

I dess 'twas stomit-ache ! 

She tails it " Tootsy- Wootsy," 

An' papa tails it " Nigger " ; 
An' Uncle Joe won't touch it, 

He says, until it's bigger. 
I squeezed its 'ittle stomit 

To see if it tould talk ; 
It aint no better'n dolly, 

For all it did was squawk. 



9° LULLABY. 

No, I don't like new babies, 

Neizer does Uncle Joe ; 
He said 'twould take till Trismas 

Before the cub would grow. 
But, if it is my brozzer, 

I'll teep it any way 
Till mamma finds anozzer 

Wat's big enough to play. 



LULLABY. 

Lay thy head upon this pillow, 
With its curly, golden crown, 
Rocking, swaying like the willow ! 
Fairies close thine eyelids down — 
On thy sweet lips lay a blessing, 
With a fairies' good-night kiss ! 
But no touch of their caressing 
Ever can be sweet as this! 

Lul-la-by-o, By-lo-baby ! 

Angels brought thee from above ; 

Deeming any gift of Heaven 

Safe within a mother's love ! 

Cheeks like apples, fair and rosy, 
Pillowed on thy mother's breast ! 
Never babe had couch more cozy, 
Never love a sweeter rest. 
Artist, can you tell the story ? 
Can you paint a face like this, 
Haloed with an infant glory ? 
Can you paint a mother's kiss ? 



THE WASP AT CAMP MEETING. 9 1 

Lul-la-by-o, By-lo-baby ! 
Angels brought thee from above ; 
Deeming any gift of Heaven 
Safe within a mother's love ! 



THE WASP AT CAMP MEETING. 

The wasp's a living poison bag ! 
As yellow as a smallpox flag ! 
So laced that he can hardly wag 

His nether half — 
The part that holds the wicked jag 

Or venomed gaff. 

So like a peanut cinched athwart, 
You wonder he don't break apart ; 
His cussedness is in the dart 

At t'other end ! 
A good long distance from the heart, 

You may depend. 

Of entomology the king ; 
The very devil on the wing, 
Whose only virtue is a sting, 

And that's a vice ! 
No boy who ever felt the thing 

Required it twice ! 

What is his purpose no one knows ; 
All other beings are his foes ; 
A criminal his wardrobe shows, 

From stem to mizzen. 
As if in his striped convict clothes 

Escaped from prison. 



92 THE WASP AT CAMP MEETING. 

So very cowardly they call't 
When one turns tail in an assault ! 
But here the saying is at fault : 

This torment yellow 
Turns tail — a backward somersault — 

And stings a fellow ! 

No scientist will e'er intrude 

Upon a hornet's solitude ; 

But when he's in a pleasant mood, 

And all things sunny, 
You take him for the insect dude, 

He walks so funny. 

It's little nonsense he will bear ! 
Though he's confined you'd best beware 
He'll vibrate that back-end affair, 

The pesky elf, 
And get so mad he'll sting the air, 

Then sting himself ! 

The luckless lad with bare feet brown 
Awakes his wrath, or tempts his frown ; 
He doesn't sting him on the crown, 

Nor on the cheek, 
But where the rascal can't sit down 

The coming week ! 

Of human courage much is told ; 
We know a hero's very bold 
When battles rage or women scold ; 

And fear, he'd scorn it ! 
But quickly he lets go his hold 

For master hornet ! 



THE WASP AT CAMP MEETING. 93 

Vain man, why boast of victories won, 
And many glorious things you've done? 
A little wasp will make you run 

As if demented, 
With his breech-loading needlegun, 

The first invented ! 

I'll fight the armies of the globe, 
Give me the wasp, whose yellow lobe 
Is armored with a poisoned probe, 

Too small for scrutiny, 
If I can have a steel-clad robe, 

In case of mutiny ! 

What fears are in the youngster's breast, 
Who dares to stone a hornet's nest ! 
Anon he sees the swarming pest ! 

Too soon he'll rue it ; 
Those boils of Job, when at their best, 

Were nothing to it ! 

In top-shaped nest of mud well dried, 
Or homemade paper, they abide ! 
You plug the hole, at eventide, 

That's in the bottom, 
With all the wasps asleep inside, 

And then you've got 'em ! 

Some boys who fixed a nest just right, 
A whole camp meeting put to flight : 
Beneath the rough seats out of sight 

They placed the thing ; 
And to the cork which made it tight 

They tied a string ! 



94 THE WASP AT CAMP MEETING. 

The elder was interpreting 

His text : " O Death, where is thy sting? " 

Those devilish boys then yanked the string, 

And loosed the cork ! 
Whereat each maddened wasp took wing, 

And set to work ! 

The strongest sermon e'er delivered ! 
The sinners and the deacons quivered ! 
The congregation rose and shivered ; 

And down they sank ! 
'Twas something more than being slivered 

By hemlock plank. 

The elder seemed so much delighted 
To think he'd roused the poor benighted, 
And many sinners proselyted 

From certain — well, 
The fact is, he was so near-sighted 

He couldn't tell. 

The women ran nor looked behind 'em, 
But, oh, the wasps were bound to find 'em 
And give 'em something to remind 'em 

Of the text ! 
Which to the sting of Death resigned 'em, 

Had it come next ! 

Though matters grave in vain may woo us, 
The merest trifles oft undo us ! 
With florid words they often sue us — 

The Lord's anointed — 
When, like the wasp, they should pursue us 

With truths more pointed. 



MOTHER. 95 



MOTHER. 



'Twas she, my friend, who gave you birth, 
And brought you to this glorious earth ! 
Upon her heart before the hearth 

She cooed and cuddled you. 
She wrapped you in your long white gown, 
She brushed and kissed your fuzzy crown, 
And never deigned to lay you down 

Till drink had fuddled you. 

In night robe, kneeling by her chair, 

Her hand upon your silken hair, 

You learned to lisp that first sweet prayer 

To childhood known : 
1 Now I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep " — 
Why should you hold that soul so cheap 

When you are grown ? 

You toddled off to school one day ; 
1 I'll have a rest ! " she tried to say, 
Until the tears got in the way ; 

For ten times thrice 
She watched your coming at the door ! 
Imagine how her heart gets sore 
When you are gone forevermore 

To schools of vice. 

You left your home in early years; 
In with your clothes she packed her fears ; 
You'd think, to see her sprinkling tears, 
'Twas ironing day. 



96 MOTHER. 



For every kiss she gave you ten ! 
How many, many times since then, 
She's wished and wished you back again — 
Back at your play. 

If you would watch your steps to-day 
As she did in your childish play, 
You'd never go in paths astray 

Where vices lead ! 
Could you but feel the joy that came 
To her, when first you lisped her name, 
You'd never cover it with shame 

By one misdeed. 

Had her breast been one-half as cold 
As yours to her, now she is old, 
Your tale of life were easy told, 

And out of mind. 
You are not worth, e'en at your best, 
One-half you cost of sad unrest ; 
Yet in the temple of her breast 

You are enshrined. 

No love like hers when all is said : 
She'd sell her shoes to buy you bread, 
And choke her hunger while you fed — 

Would any other ? 
Forgive you ninety times and nine, 
And for your sake her life resign ; 
If there's one thing on earth divine, 

'Tis your good mother. 

Though much the human breast may bear; 
Some mothers get more than their share 
Of broken heart and whitened hair ; 
Can you deny it ? 



LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD. 97 

The greatest debt that you can owe 
Is to that mother — you may go 
And pay it with a kiss or so ; — 
Suppose you try it. 



LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD. 

Beneath the azure canopy on high, 

While round her brow the winds of freedom play, 

Upon her granite, towering to the sky, 

Stands Liberty between the blue and gray. 

Mute priestess standing, Bible in her hand, 
She pledges all who enter by the sea, 
" Take what you will within this promised land, 
But never touch her glorious liberty." 

" Drop rancor in the waters of the bay, 
Where peaceful rivers meet the turbid sea ; 
With heaven's dew immersed or ocean's spray, 
Take Liberty's baptism of the free." 

Who than colossal Liberty more meet 

To wave in heaven our freedom's flambeau high, 

And add to upper ocean's fiery fleet, 

Or fix another star in yonder sky ? 

When purple wines o'erflow Sol's evening cup, 
When dusky winds have night's black flag unfurl'd, 
Then Freedom lights her glowing taper up, 
A new aurora gleams athwart the\vorld. 

Her countless banners waving in the sun, 
To deck her cities marshaled on the plain ; 



9 8 



PAT'S OPINION OF FLAGS. 



Her States, so many nations joined in one, 
While mountains sing and oceans chant refrain. 

No standing army guards this mighty land ; 
And yet from surf to surf, from Gulf to Lake, 
A myriad freemen only wait command 
To march through valor's field for freedom's sake. 

Lo ! at her beck the poised eagle wheels 
Up heaven's highway, where mortal never trod, 
Laden with love the loyal patriot feels, 
Bearing the token to the nation's God. 



PAT'S OPINION OF FLAGS. 

Every man in the world thinks his banner the best, 

And his national song 

Is often too long, 
Yet in praising his flag he makes sport of the rest, 
Though there's many a truth that is spoken in jest, 

Save wid malice prepense 

There should be no offense. 

There's the Hawaiian kingdom stuck out in the ocean ; 

Twas made as a site 

For the seabirds to light ; 
There they worship their colors wid colored devotion, 
And they never have war, but internal commotion, 

For those islands contain, O, 

Queen Lilli's volcano, 

For the honor of flags how much blood has been spilt ! 
Yet humanity clings 
To those queer-looking things. 



PAT'S OPINION OF FLAGS. 99 

Take the flag of Japan that's all covered wid gilt, 
And the Austrian flag, like a new " crazy quilt," 

And that bit of caprice 

That is all over Greece. 

And the flag of Siam, wid an elephant on it, 

Which is good reason why 

It has hard work to fly ! 
While the Turk has a flag wid a crescent upon it, 
And he wears the same token stuck up on his bonnet, 

But the Russian will soon 

Take the Turk and the moon. 

There's the flag wid two Russian birds pasted together, 

But wid only two toes, 

'Cause the others got froze ; 
And they're itchin' for war till ye cannot tell whether 
They're after the earth or more suitable weather ; 

Still there's none cares to fight 

Wid the cold Muscovite. 

There's the flag over Venice, where no dust can fly, 

Hence it always looks neat : 

For they water the street ! 
And the flag of the Switzer, that floats very high, 
Since the most of their country is up in the sky ; 

But they're too much stuck up 

For the goat's milk they sup. 

Then the flag of the Germans, much like that of France ; 
Save the " parley Francais " 
Have their stripes t'other way ; 
O'er the land in dispute both their war horses prance, 
First the wan, then the other ; I think 'twould enhance 
Poor Alsace and Lorraine 
I . p To move over by Spain. 



ioo PAT'S OPINION OF FLAGS. 

There's the red flag of England they say rules the wave ; 

'Tis small good, to my notion, 

This rulin' the ocean, 
And for all that I care she can make it her grave, 
For it isn't the water that Irishmen crave. 

But the land of old Erin, 

Wid no interferin'. 

Has their flag any right there ? No, that's a mistake : 

Those in history versed 

Know the green wan was first. 
'Twas St. Patrick who drove out of Ireland the snake, 
Now I wish, 'pon my soul, the good saint would awake 

And from bog and from crag 

Would drive out the red flag. 

There's the green flag of Erin wid no one to play 

On its harp of pure gold, 

At least so I've been told ; 
But ye can't always reckon on what people say ; 
They've been harpin' on " Home Rule " this many a day 

And they'll get it no doubt, 

If the harp don't wear out. 

They're just tunin' it up, only tightenin' each string; 

When they have it " O. K." 

There '11 be plenty to play ; 
Wid the music of yore the whole island will ring — 
Faith ye'll hear something foine when the Irishmen sing; 

Then the flag of the Queen 

Will wid envy turn green. 

There's the flag of the Chinese, as everywa-n knows, 
Cut three-cornered wid care, 
Like they'd no cloth to spare ; 






PAT'S OPINION OF FLAGS. 



Yet they seem to have plenty when makin' their clothes 
Havin' no fashion plate, they've cut big, I suppose ; 

Hangin' loose roundabout 

So the fleas will drop out. 

You can judge of those men by the wardrobe they wear 

They don't look to get fits 

For a " dollar six bits." 
Their flag was made yellow, as people declare, 
Because they've the smallpox so much over there ; 

Be warned, if ye're wise, 

By the dragon it flies. 

But one of the prettiest flags that I know 

Is the great oroflam 

Of our old Uncle Sam ; 
Wid the red and white bars all laid out in a row, 
And a nice pasture blue for the bright stars to grow ; 

Wid the eagle above 

And around it the dove. 

Of the Star-spangled Banner alone, it is said 

She has earned this renown — 

She was niver pulled down. 
With the green on my grave and that flag overhead 
I think I'll rest aisy ! But wait till I'm dead ! 

Wid that flag in the sky 

I'm in no haste to die. 



102 THE SKELETON. 



THE SKELETON. 

Good-evening, Sexton ! Don't lose your breath ! 

You are not shaking the hand of Death ! 

For I'm a skeleton, you must know ; 

I just came out of the grave below. 

For years I've noted your careless tread, 

And harmless whistling above the dead. 

Though I'm a stranger, I know you well, 

And grieve that longer I cannot dwell 

Within old Trinity's churchyard block, 

While those Italians are blasting rock ! 

Oh, I'm a skeleton, you must know ! 

I've left my tenement down below ! 

I'm forced to move to an uptown flat ; 

The rooms are smaller, but what of that ? 

Yes, I'm a relic of long ago ! 
I've slept a century down below ! 
My name is gone from the crumbling stone ; 
There's nothing left of myself but bone. 
A Knickerbocker I am of old ! 
The grave's " Four Hundred," when all is told, 
Within old Trinity's churchyard lie — 
And so exclusive ! But here's good-by ! 
For things are coming to such a pass 
The dead can't sleep for the smell of gas. 
Oh, I'm a skeleton, etc., etc. 

I left this land to my next of kin, 

All save the spot I was buried in. 

They wet my bones with their useless tears, 

But bones and memories fade with years ; 






THE SKELETON. 103 

Then came the lawyer to break the will ; 
The land went after to pay the bill. 
Now strangers come with their ceaseless tread 
And grudge the space of my folding-bed ; 
They crowd me so in the narrow tomb, 
I'll have to look for another room. 
Oh, I'm a skeleton, etc., etc. 

Farewell, old Sexton, for we must part ! 
I'd heave a sigh, but I have no heart ; 
'Twas at post-mortem when some old quack 
Took heart and lungs which he brought not back. 
He took whatever he found inside, 
As proof conclusive the corpse had died. 
He robbed the dead with a grewsome theft ; 
The microbes dining on what was left. 
The dead breathe not as the living do : - 
The ribs are open, the air blows through. 
Oh, I'm a skeleton, etc., etc. 

From lack of food I have grown so thin 
I've hardly features enough to grin. 
Your tenant longer I may not be 
Since death and progress cannot agree ; 
For who can tell what the sound forebodes 
To one entombed, when the gas explodes? 
I might have slept till the final fire, 
But touched my foot on a subway wire, 
Which gave my rickety nerves a shock, 
So up I jumps and I dons my frock. 
Oh, I'm a skeleton, etc., etc. 

Life is uncertain, but death is sure ; 
And one dies rich but to wake up poor ! 



104 THE ENSIGN. 



However big the estate one owns, 
Some stranger scatters his worthless bones ! 
'Tis just as well, for the moldy grave 
Gives little rest near the rattling pave ; 
And very few are the nights we pass 
Without a whiff of the sewer gas : 
For though I'm dead, you must not suppose 
I lost my smell when I lost my nose. 
Oh, I'm a skeleton, etc., etc. 

We lonely skeletons used to laugh 
To hear the click of the telegraph ; 
But now we tremble in every bone 
When folks " Hello ! " on the telephone ! 
Though steam heat lessen the graveyard chill, 
The Knickerbocker cannot lie still. 
Though modern faith would the thought dispel, 
He still believes in the old-time hell, 
And has good reason to fear the worst 
Has come to him when the steampipes burst ! 
Oh, I'm a skeleton, etc., etc. 



THE ENSIGN. 

Here on the brink of battle 
I fondly kiss each fold ; 
For yonder musket rattle 
My destiny may hold ! 



Dear Flag ! 



Thou ever precious banner, 
Beloved of all the free ; 
The soldier in this manner 
Shows love — he dies for thee ! 



Dear Flag! 



THE ENSIGN. 105 



What citizen-devotion 

Can ever equal be 

To that great soldier-notion — 

Idolatry of thee ! 

Dear Flag ! 

Thou'rt not unlike the others, 
But only better made ; 
For sweethearts, sisters, mothers 
Stitched in each silken shade ! 
Dear Flag ! 

In prayer they clasp those fingers ; 
In prayer they bend the knee ; 
Their blessing 'round thee lingers; 
I kiss them, kissing thee ; 
Dear Flag ! 

I kiss them for my fellows, 
So soon to cast the lot ! 
For Fate works at the bellows ! 
The forge will soon be hot ! 
Dear Flag ! 

And freedom's breeze is kissing, 
Upon thy silken scroll, 
Those names to be marked missing, 
When next they call the roll ! 
Dear Flag ! 

'Tis well we cannot read them — 
Enough to say adieu 
Whenever death shall need them — 
Perhaps my name's there, too ! 
Dear Flag ! 



io6 THE ENSIGN. 



Our regiment is standing 
In battle's dumb array — 
And waits but the commanding, 
To dash into the fray ! — 
Dear Flag ! 

Like fierce stampede of cattle, 
We'll rush where foe besets ! 
Right in the teeth of battle — 
Those glistening bayonets ! 
Dear Flag ! 

And I'm the one to bear thee ! 
The one to lead the way ! 
The God of battles spare me, 
To bring thee back to-day ! 
Dear Flag ! 

If I shall fall in battle, 
Why, thou wilt be my shroud, 
When muffled drum shall rattle 
Its anthem to the cloud ! 
Dear Flag ! 

Then, by the clod and clover, 
Hid from the blue on high, 
Thy blue sky shall be over ! 
Thy bright stars ever nigh ! 
Dear Flag! 



GUNS. io7 



GUNS. 



Hear the cracking of the rifle, 
Hear the ball, that leaden trifle, 

Whizzing by ! 
Whizzing by ? Oh, that will do ! — 
But suppose it should go through ? 

Then we die ! 

Oh, 'tis such a fatal skill, 

Where each ball is meant to kill — 

Where 'tis known 
That for every missile borne 
Some frail uniform is torn, 
Wife or mother left to mourn, 

All alone. 

Swift from musket's polished steel 
Comes the message : woe or weal, 

Mostly woe ; 
Soldier shoots as though he meant it, 
Bullet comes as if Death sent it 

From the foe. 

From its course, nor turns nor trends; 
Makes a wound no surgeon mends, 

And a flood ! 
Soldier drops from out the ranks, 
Dearly earns the nation's thanks 

With his blood. 

And that bayonet you know, sir, 
Is for argument much closer, 
Than before ; . 



io8 GUNS. 

While each point in such debate 
Seals some noble fellow's fate, 
Evermore. 

It is not. " Emancipation " — 
'Tis a question of the Nation ! 

Look, how pale 
Are those cheeks that once were ruddy, 
Blue and gray coats, torn and bloody, 

Tell the tale. 

What is that unearthly rattling? 
That's another gun, by Gatling ; 

How it c-r-a-c-k-s ! 
'Tis no birthday of the nation ! 
This is Death's own celebration ! 

Firing packs 

Of great crackers ! Turn the crank, 
Horrors rattle out in flank, 

Sum untold ! 
Aimed at yonder gray battalion, 
Where Fate rides a fretting stallion, 

Uncontrolled. 

There are guns that speak much louder ; 
There are guns that use more powder, 

Stronger death. 
Belching fire across the way, 
Like volcanoes in full play ! 

Deadly breath ! 

From yon atmosphere of smoke, 
Some artillerist's keen stroke 
Hath cut down 






GUNS. 109 

Swath on swath, that doth betoken 
Mother-hearts will soon be broken 
In the town. 

Had he seen that wife's hot tears ; 
Known the grief to last for years — 

Widowhood ! 
He'd have turned away that gun ; 
Would have left that mother's son, 

Where he stood. 

Dropping in another quarter, 
From volcanic mouth of mortar, 

Meteors fall ! 
O ! that most destructive shell, 
Bit of concentrated hell 

In a ball. 

How the cannon boom ! and boom ! 
Hoarsely shouting, "Room ! make room ! " 
How they sing of sudden doom — 

Such a tune ! 
How the round-shot seem to roll 
On some unsuspecting soul — 

All too soon. 

Playing skittles through the air ; 
Making always strike or spare, 

As they're bowled ! 
Like a ball hurled down death's alley, 
At the ten-pins in the valley, 

Manifold. 

Do you want that little spot, 
Where the fort stands reeking hot, 
'Round the city? 



GUNS. 

Must you go and batter down 
Those great walls and half the town ? 
What a pity ! 

Should some earthquake come at night, 
Swallow city out of sight ; 

Men would say : 
" What a sad and awful fate ; 
Like the horrors they relate 

Of Pompeii." 

Put a fuse into some crater ! 
Blow mankind to its Creator — 

Just as well ! 
Blow the widow and the weeper ! 
And the orphan and the sleeper ! 
Blow the world unto its Keeper — 

Tis a shell ! 

What is all this fighting for ? 
Why will mankind go to war ? 

It is said 
Deadlier engines they invent. 
Tell me, what is government 

To the dead ? 

Watch the farmer at his toil : — 
Where great gun-wheels plowed the soil, 

Flowers blooming ! 
'Tis much better occupation ! 
'Tis far better for the nation 

Than guns booming. 



DAME NATURE'S "CRAZY QUILT." m 



DAME NATURE'S " CRAZY QUILT." 

Fair Tombstone sits high on her hills 

Midst Arizona's rolling plains, 
Where low-ridged mountains stand apart, 

Like scattered links of broken chains. 
The mountain builder changed his plan, 

And left these monstrous bowlders out, 
As boys play with ungainly blocks 

And leave them scattered all about. 

Like some great chessboard of the gods, 

With castles down and game half-played ; 
Or mastless ships in Arctic sea, 

Locked in eternal ice blockade, 
So pure the air that distance doth 

The measuring eye ever deceive. 
Could Italy behold this sky 

She would with sunset-envy grieve. 

With summer's midday sun aglow — 

Like angels, from no one knows where, 
Come softest swan-down cumuli, 

Great sunshades lifted in mid-air ; 
Or plumed battalions, motionless, 

Till marshaled on by evening's breeze ; 
Their dazzling whiteness none describes, 

Nor half believes until he sees. 

The sun makes battle with the earth, 
Two ancient warriors loath to yield ; 

Ach'dles' golden spear breaks through 
Hector's uplifted silver shield ; 



112 DAME NATURE'S " CRAZY QUILT." 

Strange figures crowd the gazer's mind, 
As gorgeous visions come and go, 

Moved slowly by the unseen hand, 
In wondrous panoramic show. 

The sun, with fiery eye aslant, 

Glares through the day's slow-closing door ; 
The hills grow red, and shadows drop 

In canyons unobserved before ; 
The twilight glory gleams athwart 

The azure canvas stretched on high, 
While heaven's great artist deftly paints 

His sunset fresco on the sky. 

Then Nature spreads her patchwork out, 

Of purple, crimson, yellow, gilt, 
And all the tinted glory blends 

To make her evening " Crazy Quilt." 
The east reflects the western glow 

That blushes up the arching sky, 
And nimble fingers lay the work, 

While fast the golden needles fly. 

White velvet at the north cuts off, 

Where yellow satin 'gins to fade ; 
The orange lying higher up, 

Where pink silk blocks the red brocade ; 
The antique patterns down the east, 

With quilted satins mildly blend ; 
While dark maroon grades softly down 

To deepest purple at the end, 

Whose rumpled border, tassel frayed, 
Fangs o'er the distant mountain edge, 

As peacocks drag their ponderous tails, 
Or, clumsy, fly the cypress hedge. 



YO SEMITE. 113 

The eye sweeps 'round with level gaze ; 

And every cloud has gay attire ; 
While all the heavens catch the glare 

Of that celestial prairie fire 

Along the west. The world's ablaze ! 

It seems as though the end were near 
To see the black smoke in the south, 

And Gabriel's thunder-trumpet hear; 
A cloud moves up the glowing west, 

Dropping its wine in colored rain, 
As border-maker for the quilt, 

Trailing red fringe along the main. 

The patchwork done — lo ! from the south, 

Scaling the mountain's bold redoubt, 
With onslaught of fierce regiments, 

The Storm King throws his Black Flag out 
As lining dark, while nimble winds 

Stretch it beneath. To baste it tight 
The lightning darts with zigzag stitch 

Adown the velvet of the night. 



YOSEMITE. 

ARE these the ruined and half broken walls 
Of some more ancient Ilium ? Who can 
Translate hieroglyphics on the rocks — 
That history in raised alphabet — 
For man's blind faith to read with finger tips ? 

Who calls the Almighty mute ? Let him come here 
And stand upon this awful chasm's brink, 



H4 YO SEMITE. 



And though his ears with infidelity 

Be clogged, yet he shall hear a voice proclaim : 

"I am Jehovah, God of Sabaoth ! " 

If yonder domes that lift their broken spires 
Almost to heaven, and those stupendous walls 
Whose firm foundations rest upon the ribs 
And mighty framework of the globe, were not 
The awful masonry of God, they'd seem 
The ruins old of some cathedral vast, 
Where Nature's queen Sublimity had wed, 
But that the Fates cut short the nuptial rite ; 
For there El Capitan the bridegroom stands, 
His whilom bride at altar kneeling yet — 
Her " Bridal Veil " still sweeping down the aisle 
In one eternal wedding ! 

'Tis, more like, 
Some temple rude where ancient gods were wont 
To worship ; or those giants old who dwelt 
In days of mammoth and leviathan ; 
So gorgeous in its grandeur yet ; its vault 
The vast eternal blue, supported by 
The dazzling rainbow's arching truss, where clouds 
In ever changing fresco hourly gain 
Fresh beauty, till their sunset glory takes 
The hues of heaven ! Or grander when, at eve, 
Those fleecy vapors, decked like virgins wise. 
With iridescent star-lamps trimmed and bright, 
Come tripping forth to meet the electric moon, 
That silver bridegroom of the wooing night ! 

What lures the soul, upon these dizzy heights, 

To venture o'er the abyss — as yonder hawk 

With generous wing soars through the midland air, 



YO SEMITE. 115 

A pinioned Nautilus, that rises, sinks 
Or floats at will ? 

Matchless Yosemite ! 
High on Cloud's Rest, behind the misty screen, 
Thy Genius sits ! The secrets of thy birth 
Within its bosom locked ! What power can rend 
The veil, and bid it speak — that spirit dumb, 
Between two worlds, enthroned upon a Sphinx ? 
Guard well thine own, thou mystic spirit ! Let 
One place remain where Husbandry shall fear 
To tread ! One spot on earth inviolate 
As it was fashioned in eternity ! 

Thou art a peopled realm within thyself : 
There tender saplings nurse upon the breast 
Of Wah-wah-le-nah ! Here, like graceful maids, 
Umbrageous trees with leafy tresses bend 
To lure the ardent stream ! There lofty pines 
Like plumed warriors stand ! Like ancient knights, 
Those huge Sequoias guard the realm without ! 
While from the towers on every battlement 
The white cascades in crystal banners float, 
And soft as eagles' wings upon the softer air, 
Their misty pennants trail upon the wind ! 

Man still may come to thy baptismal font 
Of Mirror Lake, and there communing find 
One heaven above and one below, where in 
The glass both firmaments do kiss ! and from 
The myriad swinging censers of the flowers 
Inhale the incense on its way to heaven — 
Mute, perfumed prayers, worth more than litanies ! 
While mellow symphonies of joyous birds 



Il6 SILLY BILLY. 



Blend with the diapason thundering 
From deep-toned organs of the waterfalls- 
The world's exultant pean swelling to 
The majesty of all the universe ! 



SILLY BILLY. 

He was the biggest fool on earth ! 

And looked it, too ; 
No matter what the title's worth, 

It was his due. 
His legs turned out, his toes turned in, 
He had a silly sort o' grin, 
When he'd look up an' deown agin', 

Had Silly Billy. 

He had the slowest Yankee drawl 

Yo' ever heerd ; „ 

But gained some culture with it all ; 
Was Boston reared, 

With most approved aesthetic diction. 

A lie he called " evasive fiction "; 

And quarrelin' was " mental friction " 
To Silly Billy ! 

With scorn he termed our common speech 

" Linguistic stuff ! " 
As though what pretty schoolma'ms teach 

Wa'n't good enough. 
Plain food was " sustenance for lunchin' ! " 
While sweets were " most delicious crunchin'! 
And chewin' gum was " female munchin' " 

To Silly Billy. 






SILLY BILLY. H7 



His trousers, ragged at the knees, 
Were " incomplete." 

His " terminal facilities," 

He called his feet. 

He grew " leg-weary " when he walked ; 

And quite Delsartian when he talked ; 

Though people laughed, they never mocked 
Poor Silly Billy. 

He said his name, when very young, 
Was " Flyin' Turtle," 

But guessed the dust from which he sprung 
Wa'n't over fertile : 

The lightnin' struck his family tree, 

An' clean upsot his pedigree ; 

So after all, he guessed he'd be 
Plain Silly Billy. 

The widow Farnham's little one 

Loved Billy so 
That people teased her, just in fun, 

About her beau. 
" I doesn't care," said little Tot, 
" Whezzer oo loves him or not, 
He's all the sweetheart I has dot, 

Is Tilly Billy." 

Though living on the public care, 
He worked his way, 

And was most welcome everywhere ; 
But little May 

He called his " sunbeam cherubim,'' 

And often would his eyes grow dim 

To hear her lispingly call him — 
Her " Tilly Billy." 



Il8 SILLY BILLY. 



Was honest, faithful, good, and kind — 

As most fools are ; 
And one could trust his silly mind 

However far. 
One morn Tot's mother heard her say — 
As was her custom every day — 
" I dess I'll run outdoors an' play 

Wiv ' Tilly Billy ' ! " 

She couldn't find him anywhere ; 

And, coming back, 
She stopped to play with pebbles there 

Upon the track. 
Right where the train comes down the grade, 
That great monopoly of trade ; 
Yet no one sees the little maid. 

Where's Silly Billy ? 

Just as the train came dashing by 

From yonder curve ; 
Just as they heard the mother's cry, 

Something with nerve, 
Something with soul and a face so pale 
Plunged right before the flying mail, 
Pushing the tot beyond the rail — 

Was't Silly Billy ? 

A rumbling rush ! Through dust and smoke 

That mother flew ! 
She laughed, and cried ; while no one spoke ; 

Then laughed anew ; 
For there her little darling sat, 
Playing with a tattered hat ; 
Then cried again on seeing that — 

For it was Billy's ! 



THE FERRY. 119 



What can a little baby know 
Of life or death ? 

" Who hurt my ' Tilly Billy ' so ? 
He's lost hes breath." 

To die for her — heroic thought, 

By sudden inspiration caught ! 

And 'neath the modern juggernaut, 
Lay Silly Billy. 

Whoever for another dies, 

The utmost gives. 

The spirit such death sanctifies, 
Forever lives. 

The Golden Gate flew open wide 

To welcome that great soul inside ; 

'Twas nothing but the fool that died, 
Called Silly Billy. 



THE FERRY. 

I LOVE the maid with all my heart, 
Whose father tends the ferry. 

She throws a kiss when'er we part ; 
But throws it o'er the ferry. 

Those winged blessings of the air, 

With real ones never can compare ; 

But ask for one I never dare 
When I am o'er the ferry. 

With cheek so rosy, eye so brown, 
They lure me o'er the ferry. 

She is a queen with golden crown, 
Whose kingdom is the ferry : 



120 THE DEACON AND THE JUNE BUG. 

Yon little cot her castle hall ; 
Her navy is the ferry yawl ; 
And those her willing subjects all 
Who chance to cross the ferry. 

I'm very bashful by her side, 
Yet bold across the ferry ; 

I asked her : would she be my bride ? 
By shouting o'er the ferry! 

And she replied : " I cannot hear ! 

But come and whisper in my ear, 

And I'll say 'Yes,' my bashful dear ! " 
So, here's across the ferry ! 



THE DEACON AND THE JUNE BUG. 

When in the summer Sabbath calm 

The church flies croon their endless psalm, 

Exhausted nature feels no qualm 

Of conscience rise, 
Should slumber come with grateful balm 

To close the eyes. 

When drowsy feelings o'er you creep 
You'd give the world to go to sleep ; 
No use pretending you are deep 

In meditation, 
That tell-tale head will nodding keep 

In slow vibration. 

With sudden start and blinking eyes, 
You bite your lip and pinch your thighs ; 



THE DEACON AND THE JUNE BUG. 121 

In vain your sturdy manhood tries 

To keep awake, 
The prosy sermon justifies 

The sleep you take. 

A meager man was Deacon Gray. 
With well-set phrases when he'd pray ; 
His Christian duty Sabbath-day, 

To pass the plate ; 
And watch in a reproachful way 

Those coming late. 

Except a little fringe of hair 

Behind his ears, well nursed with care, 

His head like any squash was bare, 

And shone as well, 
And might in other ways compare 

I'd scorn to tell. 

Before the preacher gave his views 
Upon the text he meant to use, 
The deacon's eyelids would refuse 

To play him fair, 
And in a sort of pious snooze 

He'd feign a prayer. 

The parson was a trifle queer, 
One of those men who volunteer 
To preach for just so much a year 

And one donation ; 
So dry no doubt they justly fear 

The last cremation. 

The text of this inglorious Beecher 
Was broad enough for any teacher \^- 



122 THE DEACON AND THE JUNE BUG. 

How God created every creature 

And creeping thing. 
He making an especial feature 

Of those on wing. 

When, through the open window flew 
A June bug, just as if he knew 
No other bug on earth would do 

For illustration, 
To let the congregation view 

God's small creation. 

Around the church he buzzed and whirred 
Along the ceiling bumped and skirred ; 
The congregation caught no word 

The parson said ; 
The sleeping deacon never stirred 

Nor raised his head. 

The sanctuary etiquette 
Is rigidly observed, and yet 
How small a matter will upset 

A congregation ! 
They seem to be so glad to get 

Some variation. 

The bug made for the parson next, 
Who aimed a blow ; but, being vexed, 
Misjudged the bug and struck the text 

With such a force 
He lost the manuscript annexed 

Of his discourse. 

The deacon's shiny head he spied, 
And lighting there, began to slide 



THE DEACON AND THE JUNE BUG. 1 23 

Like amateurs who cannot guide 

The roller skate ; 
So large a bug had never tried 

The deacon's pate. 

Each time the deacon's head would dip 
The clumsy bug was sure to slip — 
No matter how his beetleship 

Stuck in his toes — 
Till, sliding down, he got a grip 

Upon the nose. 

The sleeper tilted back his nose, 

The small boy laughed, you may suppose ; 

The fair sex only grabbed their clothes 

And moved a " leetle." 
There's not much choice a woman shows 

'Twixt mouse and beetle ! 

His temper lost, the parson spake : — 
" If I such sleepy sermons make 
Not e'en a June bug can awake 

Good Deacon Gray, 
I'll stop until the sexton take 

The bug away ! " 

The cross-eyed sexton, doomed by fate 
To crooked vision, starting straight 
On purpose to annihilate 

The hocus-pocus, 
In his excitement didn't wait 

To get the focus, 

But hit the deacon's polished crown 
So hard the June bug tumbled down ! 



124 WITH THE BOYS. 

The deacon waking with a frown 

At his arousers! 
Meanwhile the clumsy beetle brown 

Made up his trousers ! 

The deacon, terrified, took flight, 
Whereat the parson called outright : 
" Lord, send thy beetles to affright 

That goodly number 
Of saints who will the Gospel slight 

By Sabbath slumber ! " 



WITH THE BOYS. 

" Tell me, lady, of your husband, and your precious chil- 
dren three ! 

I've come hither from the fairies, to inquire how they 
may be. 

There the one is famed for valor ; beautiful the others are ! 

Tell me of them, happy mother, since I come so very far." 

" Welcome, welcome, little fairy ! must I tell you all I 
know. ? 

Can I measure all my pleasure ? Love will not be 
measured so ! 

Come sometime when they are present : come and see 
what one enjoys ! 

Valor's gone to gather flowers in the meadow with the 
boys." 

" Tell me, lady, of your husband ; are your children just 
as dear? 

Does the love you give one darling with another inter- 
fere ? " 



WITH THE BOYS. 125 

" Love is like the rose's perfume : Fragrance plenty and 

to spare ! 
He gets most who most inhaleth, taking not another's 

share. 
Never man was like my husband : never children like to 

mine. 
Love, they say, was born in heaven ; surely, then, it is 

divine ! 
Each one tugging at my heart-strings ; each one all my 

love employs ! 
Valor now is gone a-fishing, gone a-fishing with the 

boys." 

" Tell me, lady, of your husband ; for you see I've come 

again ! 
Tell me of those precious children ; they must now be 

full-grown men. 
Time, the bridegroom, has been placing orange blossoms 

in your hair ! 
As I entered at the gateway, sang you not a martial 

air ? " 
" Strange you come, my little fairy, always come when 

they're away ; 
For I've always had them with me, ever with me till to- 
day. 
Thus I sang to cheer my courage : Valor's gone where 

death destroys ! 
Husband's gone and left me waiting ; gone to battle 

with the boys." 

" Tell me, lady, of the loved ones ; tell me of your soldiers 

four ! 
We have heard their valor spoken ; came they back 

when war was o'er ? 



126 SANTA CLAUS. 



Is the woeful artist busy, etching sorrow on your brow ? 
Once the happy wife and mother, can it be you're neither 

now? " 
" I'll no more sing martial music ! Battle marches lose 

their charms ! 
Back they came on martial shoulders, with their comrades 

trailing arms ! 
Can I sing of love of country, that has buried all my joys ? 
Country now is but a churchyard where he's sleeping 

with the boys." 



SANTA CLAUS. 

I AM that mythical, mystical thing — 

The little ones' monarch, the children's king ! 

The mightiest ruler on earth am I ; 

My subjects outnumber the stars in the sky. 

I'm ruler by right of the children's leave, 

And visit them all on a Christmas Eve. 

My soldiers are goblins and good little elves, 

With nothing to conquer but conquer themselves. 

I call and invisible myriads come, 

At first with a faint, indescribable hum, 

Then louder and louder ; and, chattering fast. 

These dear little goblins go scampering past 

Till off in the distance the sound dies away. 

Then back they come tumbling, and this what they say: 

" 'An-a 'Au ! 

'An-ta Cau ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

'An-ta Cau ! 

'An-a 'Au ! ' 



SANTA CLAUS. 1 27 

I'm king of the Northland, where, locked in the snow, 

Are mysteries arctic the world may not know ; 

White squadrons of icebergs stand guard evermore, 

And ships of the nations ne'er come to my door ! 

My cities are built without labor or cost 

By the delicate hand of the architect, Frost ; 

With turreted castles on mountains of ice, 

Like the palaces gleaming in paradise ; 

Whose windows aglow make the universe bright, 

Since Aurora has touched them with fingers of light. 

My electrical lamp on the North Pole that gleams, 

Is the bright polar star of the mariner's dreams. 

I never get old, though my locks may be gray, 

For a year unto me is a night and a day. 

" 'An-a 'Au ! 

'An-ta Cau ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

'An-ta Cau ! 

'An-a 'Au ! " 

My workshops are temples more grand to behold 
Than diamond peaks in a sunset of gold ; 
With icicled truss like the rainbow in hue, 
Where Hoarfrost paints nightly his fresco anew. 
There courtiers are craftsmen and artizans peers, 
There lords are mechanics and skilled engineers ; 
Each deft little goblin his genius employs 
Throughout the long year manufacturing toys. 
Then off on the wings of the frosty night air, 
Each loaded with happiness, all he can bear ; 
That little ones all through the world may receive 
The wealth of my kingdom on Christmas Eve ! 



128 SANTA CLAUS. 



On the snow banks of heaven I come in my sleigh, 
With elves and the goblins to herald the way : — 
" 'An-a 'Au ! 

'An-ta Cau ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

'An-ta Cau ! 

'An-a 'Au ! ! " 

To overgrown children, and those over wise, 

I seldom appear in conventional guise ; 

But send forth the elves and the fairies who leave 

Some comfort for each on a Christmas Eve : 

Compassion, who knocks at the wealthy man's door, 

While leaving a blessing, gets one for the poor. 

Philanthropy bows, and the great millionaire 

Returns the salute with a courtesy rare. 

Mercy visits the sick, Plenty waits upon Want ; 

Hope drinks with Despair at Utopia's font. 

Sweet Memory comes with her dreams of the past, 

And Joy smiles with Sorrow while reveries last ! 

All these are invisible angels who bring 

Peace on earth and good will, while the fairies all sing: — 

" 'An-a 'Au ! 

'An-ta Cau ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

San-ta Claus ! 

'An-ta Cau ! 

'An-a 'Au ! " 



THE SHERIFF OF CERRO-GORDO. 129 



THE SHERIFF OF CERRO-GORDO. 

" The meanest way a man can ride 
Is backward up a mountain side 
In some old stage like this," I cried, 

*' The cold winds blowing ! " 
" Look hea-e ! " said one, " you're not well versed. 
The sheriff's ride is much the worst ; 
He sends a party down feet first 

The way he's going ! 

" Speakin' o' sheriffs, just you wait ! 
We've got the best one in the State ; 
You'll find him round early and late 

'Tendin' to biz. 
And if the first one that we meet 
On Cerro-Gordo's single street 
Is not the sheriff, then I'll treat — 

The fault's not his." 

And having nothing else to do 

I listened while these miners few 

Told their long yarns, and told 'em through 

To suit their notion. 
At last we scaled the mountain brown ; 
But when the driver set us down 
We saw the little mining town 

Was all commotion. 

Our friend, who seemed to be the " boss," 
Said : — " What's the matter here, old hoss ? " 
The one addressed seemed at a loss 
To tell his grief. 



13° THE SHERIFF OF CERRO-GORDO. 

But raising his uncovered head 
" The sheriff's funeral ! " he said ; 
" For know ye, ' boss,' our sheriff's dead, 
Shot by a thief ! " 

" You've got the thief ? Well, he can wait 
Until the judge can fix his fate — 
I mean Judge Lynch, the magistrate. 

The self-same rope 
That lowers the sheriff's coffin down 
Shall drag this villain through the town 
And hang him where he'll never drown, 

High up the slope ! 

" But haint ye got no funeral sense ? 
What, plant a pard, and send him hence 
Without a word o' reference 

From his last place ? " 
" We've done our best," responded they — 
" For preachers never come this way, 
And none of us knows how to pray, 

Nor e'en say grace ! " 

" Stranger, look here, we're in a fix ! 

We knows a heap o' politics ; 

And there's no rock for drills and picks 

That we haint blasted ! 
But when it comes to Bible truck 
We're always driftin' out o' luck ; 
For that's a ledge we never struck ! 

We're flabbergasted ! 

" We knows ye 're smart ! you've got the look 
O' one as sometimes reads the Book. 



THE SHERIFF OF CERRO-GORDO. 

Don't say ye never undertook 

To play the preacher ; 
Ye haint got any critics here ; 
And them as stands around the bier 
Will always swear ye are the peer 

O' brother Beecher ! 

" We're glad you're not, 'twixt you and me, 
For ministers are apt to be 
Too high for miners such as we, 

Down in the drift. 
Although there's lots we sinners need, 
Our hearts are bigger than our creed ; 
But set us on some Christian deed, 

We'll work our shift ! 

" The sheriff, sir, was brave and square. 
The very fact he didn't swear 
Would sort o' recommend him there, 

If you would say it. 
Now if you'd tell the Lord a few 
O' his good p'ints to help him through, 
We'll gladly do as much for you. 

Expense — we'll pay it ! 

" We oft agin' the Master's will 
Go underneath, not up the hill ; 
But yet the ore we send to mill 

Is not rejected. 
With tender heart and honest brow ; 
What though he died to stop a row, 
He did the best as he know'd how ! 

Is more expected ? 



132 THE SHERIFF OF CERRO-GORDO. 

" Sometimes in business one descends 
To what his conscience ne'er commends ; 
A man's religion oft depends 

On his vocation. 
So hoist his cage a little slow ; 
'Twould disappoint the Lord, ye know, 
To find our pard too far below 

Your commendation. 

" I'll tell ye, stranger, just you say, 
He warn't a Sunday saint, no way ! 
But take his average, day by day, 

He'd clean up well. 
Some low-grade mines pan out the more ; 
But whether on the other shore 
They judge a man as we judge ore 

Is hard to tell. 

" If we can only get him through 
The pearly gates I think he'll do ! 
Of course he'll be a trifle new 

Among the sainted ! 
At first he'll find the seraphim 
A little offish — rather prim ; 
But with his winnin' ways, poor Jim 

Will get acquainted ! 

" Just over yonder on the knoll 
They've sunk a sort of prospect hole ; 
Now, stranger, please to take control 

O' this poor clay." 
Then he and I walked on ahead, 
And sorrow followed with the dead, 
While Heaven its benediction shed 

Of closing day. 



THE SHERIFF OF CERRO-GORDO. 133 

They listened all with bated breath ; 
I told them what the good Lord saith — 
Man must in life prepare for death ! 

Their hearts seemed riven. 
I said — yet knew no reason why — 
" Your sheriff has gone up on high ! " 
Man never heard more grateful sigh 

For comfort given. 

I'd got him up, but grew perplexed 
To know what course I'd follow next • 
Tried to recall some pleasing text 

Would keep him there. 
I'd leave him at the throne of grace, 
E'en if I knew he ran a race 
Hurrying to the other place 

Of dark despair. 

I couldn't send him down to dwell — 
To speak the truth, I couldn't tell 
If there was such a place as hell ; 

I'd never been there ! 
Said : — " At the golden gate there stood 
Our Lord, so merciful and good, 
That when the sheriff came, he would 

No doubt, get in there ! " 

Ah, who would not some comfort say 
Where faith and hope had lost their way ? 
And when I said, " Now let us pray ! " 

They soon were kneeling : 
Down on both knees, with hat in hand ! 
Down on both knees in dirt and sand! 
While none but God could understand 

How deep their feeling. 



1 34 " OH, YEH- YUS ! " 

For not a single word was said, 
But in the presence of the dead 
Each bowed with his uncovered head 

In dumb devotion — 
At sucha time speech must not rob 
The heaving breast of one faint sob — 
While prayers went up with every throb 

Of their emotion. 

God listens best when silence prays ! 
For measured word and rounded phrase 
Oft but the selfish pride betrays 

Of creed or schism. 
While melting prayers dropped from their eyes 
The sleeping sheriff to baptize, 
Think you kind Heaven would despise 

Such soul baptism ? 



" OH, YEH-YUS ! " 

She was a downright Yankee gal, 
And always bore the nickname " Sal " ; 
Her speech was ungrammatical — 

In doubt she said : " I gue-us ! " 
But when she was " dead sartin sure," 
She was a trifle less obscure, 
And like the timid amateur 

She blurted out : " Oh, yeh-yus /" 

She had a beau, a bashful swain, 
As odd as she and quite as plain, 
And born, like her, way down in Maine, 
Where people say : " I gue-us I " 



" OH, YEH-YUS!" 



He'd courted her for many a day ; 
It mattered not how late he'd stay, 
To what he'd ask she'd always say — 
In Yankee drawl : " Oh,yeh-yus / " 

One night, perplexed, he said : " I swon, 
Neow tell me, Sal, neow jist fer fun, 
Would yeou git mad if I took one ? " 

She simpered out : " 1 gue-us ! " 
To take a kiss he knew not how, 
But held her as he would a pleow ; 
He sighed : " And shall I take it neow? " 

She stammered out : " Oh, yeh-yus! " 

H'd never kissed a gal afore, 

And thought he'd like to try it o'er — 

And would she give him jist one more ? 

She giggled out : "I gue-us ! " 
This time he kissed her as he should, 
By taking all the time he could. 
And when he asked her if 'twas good, 

She smacked her lips : " Oh, yeh-yus ! '' 

" When gath'rin' fruit this comin' fall, 
Might I not pick them kisses all ? " 
She hid her face beneath her shawl, 

And snickered out " I gue-us I " 
He sort o' kind o' kicked her shoe — 
" I've had a sneakin' love for yeou, 
And will ye have me, Sal, fer true ? " 

She blurted out : " Oh, yeh-yus t " 

At this he grew a trifle bolder, 
And laid her head upon his shoulder — 
" Say ! have me neow or when I'm older ? ' 
She twittered out : " I gue-us I " 



136 • UNCLE EZRA'S STORY. 

" I've sparked ye since I deon't know when, 
But love ye more'n I loved ye then ; 
Neow will ye have me ? Say't again ! " 
And so she did : " Oh,yeh-yus ! " 

At length they sought the country squire, 
Who saw too plainly their desire, 
Yet thought it best he should inquire ! 

Said she : " Neow can't ye. gue-us ? " 
The judge, to joking not averse, 
Said : " Take this man of meager purse 
For ' better,' since you can't do ' worse ' ? " 

She busted out : " Oh,yeh-yus ! " 



UNCLE EZRA'S STORY. 

Somehow these memorial meetin's 
Recall the first days of the war, 
When men were enlistin' for soldiers, 
Not knowin' just what it was for. 
My son Job and I were out plowin' ; 
A horseman came hurryin' by, 
A-shoutin* : " They've fired upon Sumter ! 
The war cloud is dark in the sky ! " 

" Americans fightin' each other ?" 
Said I to the man on the nag — 
" A-blazin' away at the Eagle ; 
A-tryin' to tear down the flag ? " 
I started for town the next minute 
Leavin' Job to manage the plow ; 
By some means he got there before me, 
I never exactly knew how ! 



UNCLE EZRA'S STORY. 137 

The people were wild with excitement, 
I reckoned the town had gone daft; 
Mechanics and merchants had gathered, 
And some with the tools of their craft. 
A flag was spread out on the table 
Which held the mute paper and pen, 
And speakers were tellin' the people 
Why Lincoln was callin' for men. 

Then hushin' that motley assemblage, 

They called for the first volunteer ! 

When sign-painter Williams stepped forward 

That silence burst into a cheer ; 

And takin' the finest of brushes, 

Up there at the head of the list 

He marked down his name like an artist, 

With never a shake of the wrist ! 

When next came the pride of the village, 
The son of the poor Widow Mills, 
You heard but the sobbin' o' women 
And the scratchin' o' one o' the quills. 
This deed of heroic devotion 
We couldn't profane with our cheers — 
Our voices were choked with emotion- 
That softly distilled into tears. 

In writin' his name he'd forgotten 
The dot that goes over the " i " — 
Now, John had been layin' down carpets, 
Supportin' his mother thereby. 
The man at the table recalled him, 
And John, quickly turnin' about, 
A carpet-tack took from his pocket 
And stuck where the dot was left out. 



138 UNCLE EZRA'S STORY. 

And drivin' it into the table, 

Right down through the paper and all, 

He spoke with a voice full o' feelin' — 

The silence of death in the hall : — 

" I mean that my name shall remain there 

Until the rebellion is done ; 

Provided you'll care for my mother, 

Whose only support is her son ! 

" If the God of all battles decrees it 
Your soldier shall never come back, 
Just say that he died for his country, 
And dotted his ' i ' with a tack ! " 
Then came such a rush for that table 
As never can happen again ; 
The names had quite covered the paper 
'Fore I could get hold of the pen. 

I saw by a glance up the column 
My Job's name was down number three ; 
And somehow the tears kept a-comhV 
And bothered so I couldn't see ! 
And, takin' the pen from my fingers, 
Job tightened his grip on my arm : — 
" Say, father, I'll tend to the nation 
While you stay and tend to the farm ! " 

I warn't in the right mood for talkin', 
I'd thinkin' to do of my own ; 
And 'fore I was rightly adjusted, 
Was walkin' home 'cross lots alone ! 
My heart and my brain were disputin', 
While neither the argument won : — 
" Does a father think more of his country, 
Or does he think more of his son ? " 



UNCLE EZRA'S STORY. 139 



When Job had come home in the evenin' 
Dressed up in his new soldier suit, 
His mother at first didn't know him, 
And kept on a-parin' the fruit. 
Ere Job told the half of his story 
She fell on his blue-coated breast ; 
Her face, turnin' white as her apron, 
Gave proof she mistrusted the rest. 

On the neck of her boy she was sobbin' 
Before I could get out of doors — 
For somehow I chanced to remember 
I hadn't quite finished the chores. 
When Job came along I suggested 
He bring out his old milkin' stool, 
He replied : — " I belong to the nation, 
I'm now under government rule ! 

" A soldier," he said, " was intended 
To settle up Uncle Sam's rows, 
And nothin' could be more debasin' 
Than a corporal milkin' the cows ! 
There'd soon be a row in the barnyard — 
A cow kickin' over the pail ; 
A soldier resentin' an insult — 
A slap from a brindle cow's tail ! " 

" Wal, Job, I don't think I need worry, 
You'll live through the present campaign 
Their bullets will never disturb ye — 
'Tis always the good boy that's slain ! " 
Now, " Job," was a sort of a nickname, 
Inherited when but a lad, 
Not so much on account of his patience, 
Perhaps, as the boils which he had. 



14° UNCLE EZRA'S STORY. 

My Job was cut out for a soldier — 
Farm labor he always would shirk ; 
He'd plenty of courage for fightin', 
But never much courage for work. 
His schoolin' was never quite finished, 
For reasons durned easy to guess ; 
The teacher once sot in to thrash him, 
Which didn't turn out a success. 

The day when our loved ones departed 

Brave mothers were stiflin' their fears ; 

Some handkerchiefs wavin' " God speed you ! " 

But most of 'em wipin' up tears. 

They went to the forefront of battle ; 

They went there " determined to stay ! " 

Ah ! some spoke more truth than they reckoned, 

And haven't come back to this day. 

We nervously scanned every paper ; 

The list of the wounded we read ; 

Hardly darin' to glance down the column 

That told us the names of the dead. 

Those months seemed like years to the anxious 

While prayin' the war might be done, 

Not thinkin' their prayers, to be answered, 

Must sacrifice somebody's son ! 

Then lots of 'em came back disabled, 
And some from the prisoner's tomb, 
With not enough left for a soldier 
And hardly enough to send home. 
They told us our Job was promoted, 
We didn't much care what it meant ; 
So long as our boy was still livin', 
The good wife and I were content. 



UNCLE EZRA'S STORY. H* 

The train with torn battle flags wavin' 
Returned the old regiment home, 
As ships bring to port, from a rescue, 
Survivors picked out of the foam. 
Somehow the rejoicin' got smothered 
At hearin' the heart-broken weep — 
The boys left so many behind 'em 
Down under the daisies asleep ! 

Wife stood at the end of the depot 

Embracin' an officer, tall — 

I wouldn't have been over-flurried 

At seein' her huggin' 'em all. 

I was searchin' those dusty blue blouses, 

And scannin' each battle-torn robe ; 

Beginnin' to feel rather flurried 

For fear they'd forgotten my Job. 

" Hello, Uncle Ezra ! " said Johnny ; 

" You'll find the young colonel up there ! " 

" Drat the colonel ! " said I, gettin' worried, 

" I'm lookin' for my son and heir ! " 

" Job's the colonel ! " said Johnny. That flopped 

me. 
I sat on the steps and let go — 
To think of his bein' a colonel, 
Without even lettin' us know ! 



142 A WOMAN'S POCKET. 



A WOMAN'S POCKET. 

JUST where it is one never knows, 
Beneath the folds it never shows ; 
Above, below, before, behind — 
A puzzle to the human mind — 
Man never knows his helplessness 
Until he tries in woman's dress 
To find the pocket. 

'Twas sooner found in early days 
Before they had the polonaise ; 
Dressmakers now are sore perplexed 
To know just where to hide it next ! 
In these hard times of scanty purse 
'Tis hard to find the dress — but worse 
To find the pocket. 

A fact by husbands too well known — 
She finds his pocket — while her own 
Is so concealed about her dress 
It lost, long since, its usefulness. 
She bears her purse now in her hand 
Because she never can command 
That hidden pocket. 

You wonder why a coquette's heart 
Is never pierced by Cupid's dart ; 
'Tis not her fault, you must admit, 
But Cupid's fault not finding it. 
Love, being blind, cannot perceive 
She wears her heart not on her sleeve 
But in her pocket. 



A WOMAN'S POCKET. 143 

He's new to matrimonial cares 
Who volunteers to run upstairs 
And fetch a trifle, more or less, 
His bride left in some other dress ! 
Believe me, nature ne'er designed 
That mortal man should ever find 
A woman's pocket. 

He opens wide the closet door, 
Each hook so full of robes galore, 
That ere he finds the proper gown 
Each dress in turn has tumbled down. 
Into the placket hole at back 
He thrusts his arm, alas ! alack ! 
'Tis not a pocket. 

He drags it out in his despair 
And spreads it o'er an easy-chair — 
Lifts up each tuck and fold and seam, 
Walks round and round as in a dream. 
He's much too good a man to swear, 
Yet undevoutly wonders where 
She keeps that pocket. 

He grabs it up and rushing down 
Upon her lap tosses the gown : 
" In truth you are the better half 

If you can find Why do you laugh ? " 

" I laugh because you've brought me here 
A petticoat, my hubby dear, 
To find a pocket." 

Man finds a score with equal grace ; 
They're always in the self-same place; 



144 THE CHURCH OF HAMILTON SQUARE. 

But woman, since the world begun, 
Could never locate even one. 
We'll not except good mother Eve, 
Who had no chance, as you perceive, 
To wear a pocket. 



THE LITTLE CHURCH OF HAMILTON 
SQUARE. 

The poor man paused, for the church was new ; 
They put him back in the hindmost pew 
Because his raiment was somewhat old, 
For there they worshiped not God, but Gold. 
Where Christians bow in jewels and lace 
The Lord and beggar seem out of place ; 
For pride and vanity worship there — 
Not so in the Church of Hamilton Square. 

The beggar sighed as he bowed his head, 
" If faith is heavenly wealth," he said, 
"The poor are rich and the rich are poor ! " 
And out he went through the great church door. 
" I'll seek a certain chapel I know 
Where all are welcome, the high and low ; 
For pride sits not with a scornful air 
In the little Church of Hamilton Square. 

" They worship God in the good old way 
With humble heart, and they seem to say : — 
' Thrice welcome, stranger, whoe'er you be, 
This house is God's and the seats are free ! ' 
And while you sit in the Sabbath calm, 
And hear the word and join in the psalm, 
It seems just like a family prayer 
In the little Church of Hamilton Square." 



BARNYARD MELODIES. 145 



BARNYARD MELODIES. 

Delightful change from the town's abode, 
Is a charming drive on a country road ; 
From the stifling air of the city's street 
To the perfumed breath of the daisies sweet. 

You halt your team at the farmer's gate, 
He comes to open it ; while you wait, 
Old Rover comes bounding down the hill 
In spite of his master's " Rover, be still ! " — 
His barking shakes his thick shaggy coat, 
While these notes roll from his deep-toned throat 

Bow-wow-wow-wow ! 

Bow-wow-wow-wow / 

On either side the fat hens take leg, 
While others announce a new-laid egg : — 

Ctit-cict-act — cu-da-cut ! 

Ciit-cut-cut — cu-da-cut ! 
The rooster, shrill spokesman for the brood, 
Says — one-third polite and two-thirds rude : — 

rm Cock-a-doodle-do / 

And who the deuce are you ? 

The ducks and drakes have the self-same quack — 
They're just alike, save the curl at the back ; 
For " divers " reasons they go to the pond, 
For " sun-dry " reasons they strut around, 
And waddle off like sailors a-spreeing. 
And talk like doctors when disagreeing : — 

Quack-quack-quack-quack ! 

Quack-quack-q uack-quack / 



I4 6 BARNYARD MELODIES. 

The turkey gobbler comes charging round 
With ruffled temper and wings aground ; 
For fear he might his foe overtake 
He gives alarm, then puts on the brake : — 

Plip-gobble-obble-obble ! 

Plip-gobble-obble-obble ! 

The hog in the trough, with dirty feet ; 
The more you give him the more he'll eat ; 
This gourmand finds nothing to desire 
When half asleep in the half-dried mire : — 

R-r-r-ough-ff ! — r-r-r-ough-ff ! 

R-r-r-ough-ff ! — r-r-r-ough-ff ! 
The sow is teaching her litter of shoats 
To speak hog-Latin with guttural throats : — 

Ugh-ee ! ugh-ee ! ugh-ee ! ugli-ee ! 

Ugh-ee ! ugh-ee! ttgh-ee ! ugh-ee! 

The calf and lamb at distance dispute 
The right of bin with the horned brute ; 
Their blat and bleat the hard-headed scorns 
Where right and wrong's a question of horns 

Bah ! bah ! — Beh-eh-eh-eh-eh ! 

Bah ! bah ! — Beh-eh-eh-eh-eh ! 

The barefoot boy, from the tender rows 
Of corn, is driving the " pesky crows "; 
He stubs his toe, and they mock his pain : — 
He throws a stone and they're off again : — 

Caw-caw -caw-caw ! 

Caw-caw-caw-caw ! 

From out the meadow the lowing kine, 
Treading the buttercups, come in line ; 



BARNYARD MELODIES. 147 

Come with their soft tread through the grass, 
Answer the call of the farmer's lass : — 

Co boss ! co'boss ! co'boss ! — moo ! 

Co' boss ! co'boss ! co'boss ! — moo / 

They stand there meekly chewing their cud, 
Whacking their sides with a sudden thud 
To battle the flies ; the swinging tail 
Meanwhile drops down in the frothing pail ; . 

So boss / so boss / so / so ! so ! 

Stand still, Brindle / Heist I so ! so ! 

The king of the herd, imprisoned afield, 
Is hooking the bars, quite loath to yield ! 
He paws up the earth with muscles tense, 
And then, pacing down the long line-fence, 
On neighboring chief, with haughty mien 
And challenge hoarse, he vents his spleen : — 

Mcnu-ow-usk ! mow-ow-ush ! 

Mow-oo I mow-oo I ow-ush ! 



The mare, knee deep in the clover bed, 
Caresses her nursing thoroughbred ; 
The well-fed oxen in stanchions meek; 
The plowboy grooming his horses sleek ; 
They whisk their tails and nip at his back, 
While down the curry-comb comes a-whack ; 

" Whoa, Dan f you rascal, stand still ! 

Cxh ! cxh ! cxh ! Gee up thar, Bill! " 

The barn well filled with the bursting sheaves ; 
The swallows twittering 'neath the eaves 



1 48 JOHN MA YNA RD . 

Their song of plenty. The farmer's heart 
And barn are full ! — while he walks apart 
And chants his thankfulness as he goes 
By whistling the only tune he knows : — 
" Yankee Doodle ! " 



JOHN MAYNARD. 

John Maynard stood at the steamer's wheel ; 

A common sailor, but true as steel. 

Looking for heroes, you'd pass him by 

Unless you happened to catch his eye, 

That lens of the soul where one looks through 

To find out whether a man will do 

To leave at a post when danger is rife, 

And stand there firm at the cost of his life — 

And then you'd agree, with Captain " Dan,", 

That rough John Maynard was just the man. 

Lake Erie was calm, the sky was clear ; 
The steamer sped, as the fallow deer 
Darts through the grass on the prairie old ; 
'Twas life on deck, but death in the hold. 
Little the joyful passengers knew, 
As song rolled out o'er the water blue, 
The echo sent back from the distant shore 
Was Grief's applause and Death's encore. 

The captain stood by the engineer; 

His face turned pale with a sudden fear : 

A burst of smoke — no need to inquire, 

That crackling noise — " The steamer's on fire ! 



JOHN MA YNARD. 149 

Full quickly now his firm orders came : 
" Do all you can to keep back the flame ! 
Give all the steam the engine will stand ; 
Our only hope is to make for land. 

"John Maynard!" "Aye, aye!" "To the nearest 

shore ! 
Stand firm to the wheel as never before ! 
The steamer's afire ! On you I depend 
To save these souls ! — Will you stand to the end ? " 
" Aye, aye, sir ! " John's words were ever few — 
'Tis always the case with men that do. 

And still the captain's commands came loud, 
And rang out clear o'er the wailing crowd : 
" All passengers out on the for'a'd deck ! 
We'll do our best to keep it in check — 
Shut passages up, all hatchways close ; 
Stand by, my good men, and man the hose ! " 

The passengers rush to the figure-head, 
As if in flight from a terrible dread — 
Close crowding up where there's little room, 
Clinging despair on the neck of doom. 

All hands have come up from down below; 
Their battle short, a moment or so. 
" The engine runs without engineer," 
The captain said, " but someone must steer : 
Will you stand firm ? " John made no reply : 
He would not speak without his "Aye, aye!" 
He thought of home that held all his joy; 
His fond wife holding her bright-eyed boy, 
With fat arms clinging to mother's neck, 
But ready for romps at his father's beck ; 



15© JOHN MAYNARD. 

Two loves outweighing the world to him : — 

What need to die ? 'Twas an easy swim ; 

He'd not be missed in the thick, black smoke ; — 

His hand e'en slipped from the tiller spoke : 

" Shall I stand here and give up my life, 

And leave to want my baby and wife — 

Far worse to me than to stand and burn ? " 

But some voice whispered : " 'Tz's now your turn. 

Through rifts in the smoke those faces plead ; 

He thinks of Him once willing to bleed ; 

The voice of the captain pleads once more : 

" Will you stand firm till we reach the shore ? " 

All, breathless, wait his final reply — 

It comes at last, sailor-like : "Aye, aye ! " 

" Be calm ! " said the captain, " wail no more ! 
A hero stands there— yonder the shore ; 
Have faith in him, though you can't see through 
The thick, black smoke, yet he'll die for you! 
There's no greater faith beneath the sky 
Than that I place in Maynard's 'Aye, aye' " 

Beneath the deck 'twas a fiery maze, 
Like some great furnace all ablaze ; 
While hot smoke rose in its awful gloom, 
As if to conceal that pilot's doom. 
With one spot free where passengers stand, 
The fiery demon rushes for land. 

The pilot knows his moments are few : — 

The smoke gives way, as the flames burst through 

The upper deck and go roaring aft, 

Then slowly creep up against the draft, 

Like unbent sails crawling up the mast, 

Till pilot house is enveloped at last. 



MURPHY'S DONKEY. 15 1 

The wheel and engine stop at the shore, 
That hero's " Aye, aye ! " — hushed evermore. 

He stood there firm at the heated wheel ; 
He stood there firm till he felt the keel 
Grate in the sand of the shallow shore — 
Till human flesh could stand it no more ; 
And falling down on his funeral pyre, 
His soul went up in chariot of fire. 
Jehovah, the Captain, called him on high ; — 
John Maynard obeyed with his last " Aye, aye /" 



MURPHY'S DONKEY. 

Murphy was an old-time miner, 
Fitted by the Great Designer 
Just to prospect for the shiner, 

In and out the mining camp. 
Home was where he might be staying, 
On the mountain always straying, 
With his donkey always braying, 

Sole companion of the tramp : 
" Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! 

Murphy got by worthless pledges 
Grub to climb the mountain edges, 
Sample all the curious ledges, 

In the hope of finding ore. 
Strolling into camp one morning, 
Petered out — died without warning, 
Left no friend to do the mourning, 

Save the donkey at the door : 
" Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! ' 



152 MURPHY'S DONKEY. 

They could neither bend nor fold him, 
Hence no box they had would hold him, 
In his blankets then they rolled him, 

Boards were scarce in early days. 
O'er the grave where he was planted, 
Room was to the donkey granted, 
Who the service softly chanted 

In pathetic roundelays : 
" Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! " 

Though the rites were not extensive, 
Mountain graves are quite expensive ; 
No one deemed it reprehensive 

When the auctioneer in town 
Put the donkey up to sell him, 
Bray he would, no one could quell him, 
Nor the auctioneer excel him — 

" Who will bid ? I'll knock him down ! " 
" Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! " 

Spite of all his persevering, 
Useless was his auctioneering, 
With that donkey interfering, 

So he raffled off the brute ; 
Turner cried, " As I'm a sinner, 
All the sixes — I'm the winner ! 
But if e'er I hear him whinner 

Murphy's name, I'm bound to shoot." 
" Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! " 

Homeward Turner tried to lead him, 
But the donkey wouldn't heed him, 
Turner thought he didn't need him, 
Since he wasn't in the mood ; 



MURPHY'S DONKEY. 153 

Bade him go, and die a-braying ; 
Off he went, his long ears swaying, 
Thanks on his long features playing, 

Smiling back his gratitude : 
" Murphy ! Murphy ! Mu Mu ! ! " 

Always for his master crying, 
Ears attentive, eyes espying, 
While the echo kept replying, 

Like some burro far away; 
Thinking he had found another, 
Up one canyon, then down t'other, 
Looking for that donkey brother, 

Chased the echo of his bray : 
" Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! Murphy ! " 

Night and day he kept on going, 
Thinner, weaker, fainter growing, 
Till the crows, by instinct knowing, 

Followed on where he might guide. 
Vainly calling the departed, 
Finding no companion, darted 
O'er the cliff, clean broken-hearted, 

Down the abyss to suicide 
" Murphy ! Murphy ! Mu ! ! " 

Those who witnessed the disaster 
Said he never traveled faster, 
Hoped that he had found his master, 

But their hopes were turned to gall ; 
For they saw his ghost still straying 
On the mountain, nightly braying, 
With its ghostly echo saying : 

Suicides are donkeys all. 
" Murphy ! Murphy ! [echoj Mur-ee ! Mur-ee ! " 



^54 THE TWO KNIGHTS. 



THE TWO KNIGHTS. 

In ancient days, when valor marked the man 
And prowess made him master of his clan, 

When might was right, and polished steel was law, 
A famous knight a wondrous vision saw : — ■ 

Returning from the tournament, he lay 
Upon the barren moor at close of day. 

His mighty lance, that chivalry defied, 
And all his glittering armor laid aside, 

He seemed by nature formed to master men ; 
Having the weight of two, the strength of ten. 

His battle-ax, no other knight could swing, 
To him was light as scepter of a king. 

He held the list, so great a knight was he, 
Against the pride and flower of chivalry ; 

And oft the tide of battle to restrain 

Stalked like the sickler through the harvest grain. 

Falling asleep, while musing on his fame, 

He dreamed a stranger knight unarmored came, 

And with a slender rapier touched his breast ; 
The startled knight the stranger thus addressed : 

" And who art thou — or knight or page or squire — 
That com'st to me in such a strange attire ? " 

To whom the stranger said : " Behold in me 
The knighthood of the Nineteenth Century." 



THE TWO KNIGHTS. 155 

" What mail hast thou beneath thy robes concealed 
That makes thee bold ? Thou hast nor arms nor shield ! 

" Quaint knight, to challenge me thou dost presume, 
With nothing knightly 'bout thee, save thy plume ; 

" The weight of my huge sword would cleave in twain 
That casque of thine which barely sheds the rain ; 

" That rapier toy thou dost so deftly wear 
Will serve as bodkin for my lady fair ; 

" For since thou hast defied me on the road 
My lance shall spit thee as it would a toad. 

" If knight thou claim'st to be, pray tell me how, 
Unarmed, thou dost maintain thy knightly vow : 

" The Oath of Chivalry that poets sing : — 
Defense of God,. the ladies, and the king? " 

" Defense of God," quoth he, " we ne'er pretend, 
For Heaven itself can Heaven itself defend. 

" Protect the ladies ? Yes : the precious elves ; 
But bless your soul, they can protect themselves. 

" Although we're seldom charged with their defense 
Pray do not think they're any less expense ; 

" And kings are luxuries, beyond a doubt, 
The world is learning fast to live without. 

" Mankind to man refuse to bow the knee, 
And kings are only kings by courtesy. 

" I represent " — at this his proud lip curled — 

" An age where mind, not muscle, rules the world." 



156 THE TWO KNIGHTS. 

" Since thou hast challenged me, unarmored knight, 
Use thou thy weapon, I unarmed will fight. 

" But that thy boldness earns respect from me, 
With this mailed gauntlet I would chasten thee. 

" Or, if inclined, clutching thee by the frock, 
Dash out those brains upon the wayside rock 

" Thou claim'st as thy defense — and thou should'st find 
That muscle still is master over mind ; 

" I'll take thee 'neath my arm and squeeze thee there 
As one would play a bagpipe at a fair, 

" And thou shalt feel me piping at thy throat 
And swanlike die with thine expiring note ! " 

Replied the stranger : — " Sir, you'd best reflect ; 
Before we're done you'll speak with more respect ; 

" Before the title of brave knight you earned, 
A little caution, too, I ween you learned. 

" While man is human he should never scorn ; 
No man so great but greater may be born." 

At which the knight made at him, thus defied ; 
Meanwhile the stranger nimbly stepped aside ; 

Drawing his pistol, as he turned around, 
Fired through the empty helmet on the ground. 

Amazed the trembling knight, prostrate with fear, 
Gasped : " What infernal noise is this I hear ? 

"And art thou, sir, the devil in disguise ? 
Is that the thing with which to civilize? " 



THE TWO KNIGHTS. 157 

" I am but mortal, sir, pray have no fear — 
His majesty ne'er puts on knightly gear. 

" This pistol, sir, the product of the mind, 
Unto one common level brings mankind. 

" Be not amazed, 'tis but a common toy, 
And rates the giant with the crippled boy. 

" Look where the bullet pierced your helmet through. 
Tis well, Sir Knight, I did not shoot at you, 

" Although the instrument is well designed 
To impress an argument upon the mind. 

" Here's dynamite — a modest powder brown, 
That burrows earth and tears the mountain down. 

" Should I the wonders of the age explain, 
Your feeble mind would hardly bear the strain. 

" It is enough, Sir Knight, for you to know. 
True chivalry doth not in armor go : 

" Who conquers others doth much valor show ; 
Who conquers self subdues the greater foe. 

" The fiercest wars are battles of the mind — 
Bring sweeter peace and leave less ills behind. 

" If swords bring death, far better that we break them, 
And help poor orphans rather than to make them : 

'Twere far more valorous to wield the spade ; 
For making widows is a sorry trade. 

" They need no armor who, in modern years, 
Shed benefits instead of purple tears. 



158 THE TWO KNIGHTS. 

" Not he alone of great athletic might, 
Or skill to use the sword, may be a knight. 

" But every man who scorns oppression's rod, 
Loves country, home, his mother, and his God ; 

" Who can be cautious, too, as well as brave, 
And bear through life his honor to the grave — 

" A life of purity without pretense, 
Of charity and sweet benevolence — 

" Twin virtues by which chivalry may find 
Man's greatest glory is to bless mankind. 

He is true knight in whom these virtues blend ! 
The truest knight is truest to his friend ; 

" For friendship — grandest boon to mortals given- 
Creates on earth a little bit of heaven." 

A while in wonder he the stranger scanned, 
Acknowledging defeat with proffered hand. 

" I'll be a modern knight henceforth," said he, 
" For thou, unarmored knight, hast conquered me. 

" I feel a power within that's greater than 
The sinewed might of any mortal man. 

" No more shall my huge lance on tented field 
Strike down opposing knight too brave to yield. 

" The foremost knight shall be the foremost man 
And, chivalrous, turn good Samaritan ! " 

The archers o'er night's ramparts had begun 
To shoot the golden arrows of the sun 



THE TWO KNIGHTS. 159 

Before the dreamer, waking, found that he 
Had wandered in some future century. 

He felt the soul within, beyond a doubt, 
Was greater than the mighty man without — 

The spirit, the aspiring mind and heart, 
Alone were heaven's eternal counterpart ; 

That prowess after all was empty name, 
And noble deeds the surest road to fame. 

His knightly banneret aside he flung, 
His armor on the castle wall he hung, 

And, doffing helmet for the priestly hood, 
Was ever after known as " Friar Good" ; 

Left friendship 's bounty at the widow's door, 
And carried life where he took death before ; 

While seeds of charity gave better yield 
Than all the glory of the battle field ; 

True knighthood never had a truer friend, 
Nor faith and works a brighter, holier end. 



i6o 



ITALIO. 



ITALIC 

Italio paused while crossing the Thames 
On London Bridge of a summer's day ; 
And he watched the pigeons with eyes like gems 
And their wings of freedom to fly away. 

And he thanked his Maker for freedom as well — 
For freedom that long had been out of his reach, 
While immured in a murky political cell, 
Because he indulged in the freedom of speech ; 

When a lad, who was whistling a national air, 
Came, bearing a cage that was rudely made 
To contain little birds that his skill might ensnare, 
And skylarks that day were his stock in trade. 

" Thena you are a jailor ! " Italio said, 

In that dialect known for its musical charm ; 

" A vera young jailor, weez curia head, 

And you carra da preeson beneatha your arm. 

" Praya why do you keepa da leetala bird 
Behinda da bars in da summair time ? 
Nevair in alia da life have I heard 
Da heaven-lark evair committed a crime ! " 

" Look 'ere ! " said the lad, " w'ere's yer bloomin' eyes ? 
Ye never see jailbirds wi' garments so brown. 
'Tis a lark just imported from up in de skies ; 
'Ere's the bird an' the cage, sur, at 'arf a crown!" 

" Woulda freedom to all were so vera cheap : 
A crown woulda buy man hees libertee ! 



ITALIO. 161 

Whata right hava you in da bondage to keep 
Whata nature and God hava mada so free? " 

" Ye talks like a parson, sur, full o' his text ! 
An' if ye'd allow o' me savin' a word — 
Wile 'opin' as 'ow, sur, ye wouldn't be wexed — 
I'll pass roun' me 'at, sur, to pay for the bird." 

Italio smiles as he pays him the price ; 

Then caressing the lark, from his broad open palm 

Lets him fly away, up to the birds' paradise 

Of the blue and the white and the gold, with a psalm. 

"Thus do I letta da leetal bird go ! 
Restoring to nature a bird and a song ; 
And flinging da cage to da reevair below, 
Eacha go to da place where he mosta belong. 

" From da clover, da daisie, da butteracup — 
Da meadow's perfume on hees velveta wing — 
He carra da incense which nature send up ! 
Sole envoy to Heaven, smalla wonder he sing! 

" As thou risest up from thy dewy nest 
To waken da sun wi* dy matina hymn, 
Hees golden arrows he shoot at dy breast 
As he benda hees bow o'er da mountaina rim. 

" I knowa da joy in dy littala throat ! 
And up at da weendow of heaven I see 
De angel enchant' wi' dy mellow note; 
Taka dema da kiss wheech I gava to thee ! 

"Farawell leetal bird ! fetcha word from on high, 
Wheecha creed of mankinda be right, whicha wrong. 
Da soul of da mortal dat seeka da sky 
Shall not losea da way if it follow dy song." 



1 6 2 THE GHOST OF AN OLD CONTINENTAL. 

How many a bird from its cage is freed 
By an act of kindness the world may spare. 
And touching the lip of a generous deed, 
Toward heaven is kissed by a practical prayer. 



THE GHOST OF AN OLD CONTINENTAL. 

I'm the ghost of an old Continental, 

Come back for the Fourth of July ! 
Now don't you go pilin' on questions, 

Or, Yankee-like, I shall reply 
By askin' you questions. Whence came I? 

It isn't quite right you should know ; 
But this much I'll tell you, good people — 

I didn't come up from below ! 

I came for a sort of a sojourn, 

To see how you're keepin' the day ; 
If you'd keep it up this way forever, 

I reckon I'd just like to stay ! 
The people and customs have altered, 

You'll scarcely believe it is true ; 
But, searchin' from ocean to ocean, 

I found only one thing I knew : 

The savage had fled with the forest ; 

Great cities in haunts of the stag ; 
I wouldn't have known my own country 

If I hadn't caught sight o' the flag ! 
There's a heap more o' stars in the corner ; 

The blue field you're tryin' to fill 
With States that I never yet heard of, 

But the old thirteen stripes are there still ! 



THE GHOST OF AN OLD CON TINEA' TA L. 163 

I reckon I'm quite out of fashion, 

For meetin' some city gallants 
They asked where I purchased my wardrobe 

And picked up these bicycle pants. 
In my day the men wore knee-breeches — 

I trust the allusion won't vex , 
But those long ones I see the men wearin' 

Were worn by the opposite sex ! 

This bicycle business reminds me 

I've got no amazement to spare ; 
I'd heard of 'em walkin' on water, 

But never o' walkin' on air ! 
They showed me their spinnin'-wheel buggy, 

And said I could ride, bein' shown : 
But never again will I straddle 

A wagon that won't stand alone ! 

The light in the gas-jet is burnin' ; 

The anthracite coal on the hearth ; 
Blue blood pulses out in petroleum 

By probin' the veins of the earth ! 
By the light of a tallow dip candle 

Our bashful youth courted the lass ; 
But now, when they're doin' their sparking, 

They turn on the natural gas I 

I met such a singular creature, 

Which someone observed was a dude ; 
While gazin' in wonder upon him 

He said I was' how 'idly wude ! 
When I was a youngster the monkeys 

Went round on hand-organs content, 
While Italy makea de moosic 

De monkey he catcha de cent ! 



1 64 THE GHOST OF AN OLD CONTINENTAL. 

I wanted an old flint-lock musket 

With ramrod and long powder-horn ; 
They asked me in perfect amazement, 

" Wal, stranger, pray when were you born ? 
The sight of their breech-loadin' rifles, 

And Gatlin' guns turned by a crank, 
With bullets stuck into a thimble, 

Bewildered this old-fashioned Yank ! 



I told 'em I reckoned I wasn't 

Familiar with new Yankee tricks ! 
I'd a-settled the whole Revolution 

If I'd had 'em in seventy-six ! 
Imagine me fightin' at Yorktown, 

A-mowin' 'em down on the run, 
As I used to cut swaths in the meadow — 

A-tryin' this new-fangled gun ! 

The spinnin' and weavin' and knittin' 

Are numbered with things obsolete : 
A woman now wabbles a pedal, 

And sewin' is done with the feet ! 
But speakin' o' wabble reminds me — 

One custom they cannot forget : 
The women did most of the talkin' — 

I find they are doin' it yet ! 

Some monstrous electrical spiders, 

It seems, have been plyin' their trade ; 
The network of wire o'er the cities 

Is naught but the web they have made. 
And so they keep spinnin' and weavin' 

As if human bein's were flies ; 
Once caught in the toils of its meshes, 

This buzzin' humanity dies ! 



THE GHOS T OF AN OLD CONTINENTAL. 1 65 

This telephone beats all creation — 

A coffee-mill stuck on the wall ; 
One turn of the crank, and the nation 

Stands waitin' at your beck and call ! 
When I go back yonder and tell 'em 

The people are talkin' by wire, 
They'll say " It's just what we expected — 

The Devil's had hold of the Sqitire ! " 

But what will they say when I tell 'em 

The navy is runnin' by steam ; 
The railroad has tunneled the mountain 

And bridged every canyon and stream ; 
Torpedo-sharks swim in the ocean ; 

The dynamite fiend is well known ; 
Electrical lights furnish lovers 

With nice fickle moons of their own ? 

Steel pens and type-writers have driven 

The old-fashioned quill out of use, 
And the genius of authors no longer 

Soars around on the wings of a goose ! 
Your new incubators have taken 

The poetry out of the hen ; 
And Darwin, with strange evolution, 

The vanity out of the men ! 

In my day men came from the cradle ; 

Evolution don't prosper so well 
If that is the best it can furnish — 

The la-de-da dude and the swell. 
Far better if Darwin had left 'em 

Back where evolution began, 
Than spoil a respectable monkey 

In tryin' to eke out a man ! 



1 66 THE GHOST OF AN OLD CONTINENTAL. 

To watch a balloonist ascendin' 

I borrowed an opera-glass, 
Observin' : " when /journeyed upward, 

I didn't need hydrogen gas ! " 
But, wonder of wonders ! they asked me 

To ride in a fly in '-machine, 
And take a trip over the ocean 

To visit the jubilee Queen ! 

Though intended to be a free country, 

I fear you will make it too free, 
Since foreigners bound to outbreed ye 

Are bound to outvote ye, ye see ! 
The freedom of ballot's a blessin' 

When left to the honor of men, 
But giv'n to the scum of creation — 

Pray what do you think of it then ? 

You'll excuse my great love for that banner, 

Which now is the pride of the world ; 
I bore it at old Saratoga, 

The very first time 'twas unfurled ! 
And if ever you need our assistance, 

To keep the old flag in the air, 
Send a message up yonder to glory; 

All the old Continentals are there ! 



GRAND CANYON OF THE COLORADO. 167 



THE GRAND CANYON OF THE COLORADO. 

Midway to heaven I stand between two skies : 
The blue above, the purple one below. 
Far down the depths the screaming eagle flies, 
To solitude the solitary foe. 

Clutching a shrub, and leaning o'er the brink 
I see a river dwindle to a thread ; 
So far below parched Nature may not drink ; 
A vein of life still pulsing through the dead. 

The soft white clouds float o'er the canyon brown, 
Like troops of angels stealing from the sky ; 
Thus heaven smiles brightest where earth wears a frown, 
While grandeur ever lifts the soul on high. 

Heaven finds on earth some quiet dwelling-place, 
Where e'en the skeptic must his Maker scan 
And cry in awe before Him, face to face : 
How infinite is God ! How puny, man ! 



THE DEAD REGIMENTS. 

These mounds, undulating, make waves on the sod, 
Like the billows of time in the ocean of God. 

O'er the wrecks of rebellion, the lost and the slain 
In the tempest of strife, floating up on the main. 
Close packed like the drift-wood washed up by the surf, 
God spread his tarpaulin of sanctified turf ; 
Thus heaven made the tents 
Of the dead regiments. 



1 68 ELSIE ADAIR. 



They had ended their war ere the battle was over, 
And poured out their blood making crimson the clover. 
You thought they were sleeping — you found they were 

dead, 
And not to disturb them just lowered their bed ; 
You raised Nature's blanket and laid them close under, 
Where no bugle wakes them, nor hoarse cannon's thun- 
der. 

Grave's mute residents, 
Are the dead regiments. 

Above them still bloom the wild flowers of the nation — 
They nourish the plants for their own decoration ; 
Serenely they sleep without mattress or pillow 
'Neath tents that are green as the sun-crested billow. 
Many times they had slept on the grass and the sod 
Ere they went into camp, with the army of God. 
Now those beds are the tents 
Of the dead regiments. 



ELSIE ADAIR. 

Elsie, Elsie, sweet Adair ; 
Hail you from the upper air ? 
Graceful as the fabled fairy 
In your silken robes so airy ; 
With the mellow music swaying ; 
While the colored lights are playing 
On the vision transitory ; 
'Tis a picture out of glory ; 
For with angels you compare, 
Elsie, Elsie, sweet Adair ! 



STUTTERING BILL ON THE HEN. 169 

Elsie, Elsie, sweet Adair ; 
With a smile so debonnair; 
Graceful as the waving willow, 
Or the rolling, dancing billow ; 
Turning, twisting, swinging, bending; 
Every charm on thee attending, 
With such melody of motion, 
One cannot resist the notion : 
Hearts are broke beyond repair, 
Elsie, Elsie, sweet Adair ! 

Elsie, Elsie, have a care, 

Sommersaulting in the air ! 

Lucky worm whose gorgeous spinning 

Robes the dancing maid so winning ; 

While the silken wings go whirling, 

Fold on fold, in rapture curling ; 

Deeming it a pleasant duty 

To enfold such grace and beauty. 

Chaste and charming thing of air, 

Elsie, Elsie, sweet Adair ! 



STUTTERING BILL ON THE HEN. 

The h-hen's a feathered f-flirt ! 
She's neither b-bird nor owl ; 
She wallers in the d-dirt, 
And so they calls her f-fowl. 

Her head is on w-w-one end, 
Her t-t-tail is stuck on t-t'other ; 
But nothin' t-t-to commend, 
Like that owned b-by her b-brother. 



17° STUTTERING BILL ON THE HEN. 

D-dame Nature rarely f-fails, 
Nor 1-leaves her f-friends bereft, 
But w-when she gave out t-t-tails, 
Somehow the h-hen got l-left. 

Her wings are like her t-t-tail : 
Of no account at all. 
When f-flyin' from a rail, 
They only b-break the f-fall. 

All d-day she is a h-hen ; 

At night whene'er she ch-choose-ter 

Go off to b-bed, why, then 

She's n-nothin' but a r-rooster. 

No female g-gossip knows, 
Because she st-stays at home. 
She s-sleeps in her b-best clothes, 
And w-wears her hair in c-c-comb. 

The b-best known incubator — 
Until some Y-Yankee 1-lout 
Improved the h-hen creator, 
Whose p-patent right r-run out. 

Watch M-Mother Shanghai st-stride ; 
So like those v-vain dragoons ; 
Her f-feet she t-tries to hide 
With f-feather p-pantaloons. 

When B-Bridget scrubs the k-kitchen, 
And gets it c-clean and n-neat, 
These h-hens stand round j-jess itchin' 
To use their m-muddy f-f-feet. 



MRS. FLANDERS. 1 7 I 

These hens are q-quite exclusive: 
Believin' etiquette 
To b-be a th-thing delusive, 
Each h-holds to her own s-s-set. 

A b-bantam hen h-had I, 
With little ch-chick to match it ; 
She said : " I cannot 1-lie — 
It was my 1-little h-hatchet ! " 

My r-rooster crows f-for fun ; 
And he will always d-d-do so. 
I named him Robinson 
J-j-jess because he Crew-so ! 



MRS. FLANDERS. 

Sally Higgins wasn't smart ; 

She lacked the brains, but not the heart ; 

She'd lots o' space for Cupid's dart, 

For which a woman panders ; 
And she wa'n't much on beauty nuther; 
With none to love — not e'en a brother : 
The Bible says : " Love one another " — 

So she loved Billy Flanders. 

An' sometimes Billy 'd hang areound; 
Sit on the fence er on the greound, 
An' try to look a. bit profeound ; 

Both thumbs in his suspenders : 
" It ain't much matter what folks say ; 
She's smart as I am any day ; 
Thar hain't much larnin' come my way, 

More'n any other Flanders'." 



1 7 2 MRS. FLANDERS. 

Said Sal : " I 'spect he'll ask of me 

That Mrs. Flanders I will be ; 

Then I must seem composed — te-he ! 

Not like the Goosy Ganders. 
I'll have to practice heow to walk, 
An' heow to act, an' heow to talk, 
So not to seem a silly gawk 

When I am Mrs. Flanders. 

" Yeou long-tailed squirrels, every one, 
I'm willin' you should watch the fun ; 
But, mind ye, don't ye laugh, nor run 

An' scatter any slanders ! 
Yeou little birds up in the trees, 
Jest yeou watch eout that no one sees, 
When my own hand I gently squeeze, 

As if 'twere Billy Flanders'." 

But just as her untutored ear 

Had grown accustomed oft to hear 

The sweet words : " Mrs. Flanders, dear," 

She met a Mr. Sanders, 
Who thereupon made her a call; 
And — what d'ye think ? — he had the gall 
To ask her hand ; and got it all, 

Instead of Billy Flanders. 

" I've gin ye both my heart an' hand; 
They're yeours till death shall take command 
But when ye learn what I had planned, 

I guess ye'll have the ' janders ' ! 
Fur, neow it's fixed, I'll tell ye what : 
My calculation's all upsot, 
Fur 'sted o' gittin' the man I've got 

I 'spected I'd git Flanders. 



OLD EAGLE. 173 



I've practiced t'other name so long 
It's like a good old-fashioned song, 
That, once got right, ye can't git wrong ; 

Think so, Mr. Sanders ? 
Till I can sort o' change my text 
I trust ye'll not be gittin' vexed 
If, when they ask, I git perplexed 

An' say : " I'm Mrs. Flanders ! " 



OLD EAGLE. 

Fear not, grand eagle, 

The bay of the beagle ! 
No hunter his gun will incline ! 

He's branded with shame 

Whoever takes aim 
At thy freedom, a right divine ! 

Great bird, thou art king 

Of all that bear wing ! 
And this was thy country of old ! 

'Way back in creation, 

Before 'twas a nation, 
Or known to Columbus, the bold. 

With the red man, primeval, 

Thy birthright's coeval, 
By Deity given in feoff ! 

'Twas not his war bonnet, 

But thy plumage on it, 
Made the crown of the old Indian chief! 



174 OLD EAGLE. 



As the dove was the guide 

To the ark on the tide, 
To freedom thou ever hast been — 

Flying out on the sea 

To greet Liberty, 
And pilot the Mayflower in ! 

The sunset red 

On the white clouds shed 
Made stripes for our goddess divine — 

She stitching the bars, 

Thou bringing the stars, 
Completing the grand design. 

'Twas thy sweeping wing 

Did the first breath bring 
To the sail of the old Constitution ; 

And from first to last 

Thou didst wheel 'round her mast 
In the smoke of the great Revolution. 

Start not from thy poise 

At that rumbling noise 
When the lightning and s^orm disagree ; 

It is not a battle, 

'Tis only the rattle 
Of heaven's artillery. 

From thine eyrie, the crag, 

Watch over thy flag, 
And ne'er let it trail in the dust ! 

Soaring high in the air 

Ever this asgis bear : 
" In Freedom and God is our Trust." 



THE BROGUE I BROUGHT OVER. 175 

Fear not, grand eagle, 

The bay of the beagle ! 
No hunter his gun will incline ! 

He's branded with shame 

Whoever takes aim 
At thy freedom, a right divine! 



THE BROGUE' I BROUGHT OVER THE OCEAN. 

I'M a bright Irish maid, 
Wid an excellent trade : 
I wash up the dishes, and cook. 

Though I ne'er went to school, 
I am nobody's fool ; 
I'm smarter, a heap, than I look ! 
Whinever I take a good notion, 
To mistress I show great devotion. 
I've a very rich brogue, 
Which a handsome young rogue 
Declares I brought over the ocean. 
Across the sea 
I'm Biddy McCree ; 
But Patrick declares he's a notion 
" O' changin' my name, 
Though he loikes the same 
Wid the brogue I brought over the ocean. 

Patrick says it's no harm 

To hold me wid his arm, 
Though it came to his mind by degrees ; 

An' he thinks, I declare, 

I would slip off me chair 
If he didn't hold on wid a squeeze. 



176 THE BROGUE I BROUGHT OVER. 

I axed where he picked up the notion 
O' showin' me waist such devotion. 
" Someone else, I suppose, 
Your arm would inclose 
If I hadn't come over the ocean ! " 
Across the sea 
I'm Biddy McCree; 
But Patrick declares he's a notion 
O' changin' my name, 
Though he loikes the same 
Wid the brogue I brought over the ocean. 

Patrick made this reply, 
Wid a look in his eye 
Which made me believe what he said : 
" Sure, no angel above 
Equals Biddy, me love ! 
For the want of yer smile I'd be dead ! " 
Whin so nately he spoke his devotion, 
I thought I would " second the motion " : 
" If 'twill save ye from dyin,' 
There's no use denyin' 
I did well to come over the ocean. " 
. Across the sea 
I'm Biddy McCree ; 
But Patrick declares he's a notion 
O' changin' my name, 
Though he loikes the same 
Wid the brogue I brought over the ocean. 



PADDY MOORE. 177 



PADDY MOORE. 

Paddy Moore was all Irish, and no doubting it ; 
If you doubted the name, you could tell by the wit. 

A policeman he was, of material raw, 

Who had taken the oath of enforcing the law. 

He would serve any warrant, it mattered not how, 
Though he couldn't be trusted to settle a row ; 

One never could tell, when he'd finished the job, 
Which was the officer, which was the mob. 

Some Irish excuse for such conduct he'd find : 

" Whin I grab me shillalah, the law slips me mind ! " 

John Lynch was a drunkard whom Paddy knew well, 
For always when tipsy his story he'd tell : 

" I was born on the ocean that far from the land 
How to fix up me age I can not undhershtand. 

" Bein' out on the waves, I was born long before 
I came into the world, don't ye see, Paddy Moore. 

" Bein' born to no counthry, I must be a rogue ; 
But, bedad, I'm not Dutch, ye can tell by the brogue. 

" I've been earnin' me bread by the shweat o' me brow ; 
I think it's skilled labor they're callin' it now. 

" I can handle the shovel along wid the best ; 
But the skill o' me labor is shtoppin' to rest. 

" Let none o' yees doubt, though I can't write me name, 
I'll be makin me mark in the world jist the same. 



178 PADDY MOORE. 

" I'm a voter, bedad, though me brogue is that thick 
That ofttimes I strike it mysilf wid a pick. 

" But a terrible failin' lies hard at me door : 
'Tis a love for the liquor I'll never git o'er; 

" For, though I was born in the midst of the brine, 
An' all those sweet mermaids are sisters o' mine, 

" I was that scared o' water, for fear I should drown, 
That niver since then could I kape the stuff down." 

In New Brunswick, New Jersey, John Lynch chose to 

dwell ; 
And, barring mosquitoes, it suited him well : 

He had cranberries cheap, an occasional strike, 
And " old applejack " plenty whenever he'd like. 

But he liked it too often, and liked it too much ; 
And whenever in liquor his temper was such 

That the demon of drink would incite him to crime ; 
And for beating his wife he had many a time 

Been under arrest ; till he swore by the pen 
He would never be locked up in prison again ! 

Though the spirit is willing, the flesh may be weak, 
And the spirits he took were too strong, so to speak ; 

And the brute took to beating his wife as before — 
The brute always beats what he ought to adore ; 

And, hearing a warrant was issued, he said : 

" I'll straightway go hang myself out in the shed." 

Paddy there found him hanging, and said : " I declare ! 
Ye've got up in the world ! Are ye takin' the air ? 



PADDY MOORE. 179 

" Did ye tie yerself up to be here when I came ? 
Or hang up like poultry to show ye died game ? 

" Fie ! fie ! Mr. Lynch, ye're a livin' disgrace ; 

Yer deeds are that dark ye've turned black in the face. 

" For fear ye'd not rise wid such crimes on yer head, 
Ye had resurrection before ye were dead. 

" To make sure ye are dead, here's a drop of old rye ; 
If there's any life in ye, 'twill open yer eye. 

" Excuse me for temptin' ye, I didn't note 

Ye'd sworn off from drinkin' an' tied up yer throat. 

" Ye'll go where the people are thirsty, I think, 
So kape yer throat tied — ye'll find nothin' to drink. 

" Though ye seem to be dead, there's a doubt in me mind 
How yer life could get out wid yer throat so confined. 

" Be ye livin' or dead let the coroner say, 
I've no right to be wastin' a warrant this way. 

" Though ye're too dead to vote, ye shall not 'scape the 

law ; 
Ye're a citizen while ye can hold up yer jaw. 

" Ye are served wid the warrant beyond e'er a doubt, 
'Tis there in yer pocket, the end stickin' out. 

" Ye'll not go to heaven right soon, any rate ; 

While ye're under arrest, ye'll not dare leave the State. 

" 'Tis no use to go up to St. Peter and try 

To get in through the gate wid that look in yer eye. 

" He'd know right away whin he'd look at yer face 
Ye've a very bad character from yer last place. 



180 " SAID I." 

" St. Peter is kind and forgivin', I know, 
Excusin' the most of our frailties below, 

" But there isn't a crime that would damn ye that quick 
As strikin' a woman, ye cowardly mick ! 

" Though ye beg to get in, he will not be herrangued ; 
Whin he looks at yer paper, he'll say : ' Vou be hanged ! ' 

" Whin he sees by the paper ye're wanted below 
By his friend Paddy Moore, he'll command ye to go ! 

" An' ye'll ax him : ' Down where ? To New Jersey, 

or — well, 
That place which the newspapers niver dare spell ? ' 

" An' St. Peter will say, wid a smile in his voice : 

' Take yer pick, Mr. Lynch ; 'tis a matter of choice ! ' " 



"SAID I." 

Harry is tall and full of grace, 

But such a bashful lover 
That when I gaze on his fair face 

The blushes creep all over. 
How strange he never understood 

I knew each tender feeling ; 
And plainly saw the love he would 
Oft hide, without concealing. 

" Why don't he ask ? " said I ; 
" Why don't he ask ? " said I. 
" How shall he know 
I love him so 
Unless he ask ? " said I. 



" SAID I." 181 

To-day he gently took my hand ; 

No one could hold it lighter ! 
I drew it so he'd understand 

That he must hold on tighter ! 
I said : " There's something on your mind ; 

Pray tell me of it, Harry." 
He only asked : " How shall I find 
If she I love will marry ? " 

" Why don't you ask ? " said I ; 
" Why don't you ask ? " said I. 
" It might be so ; 
How can you know 
Unless you ask ? " said I. 

At last he spoke, with many a sigh, 

Which is the lover's comma : 
" 'Tis you I mean ! " " Ah, well," said I, 

" You better ask my mamma ! " 
He sighed : " I love but you alone! 

Don't send me to another. 
Although she's very sweet, I own, 
I do not want your mother!" 

" Well here's my hand," said I ; 
" But understand," said I, 
" Not finger tips, 
But rosy lips, 
Were made to kiss ! " said I. 

Young men are often so profuse 

With kisses one can't trust 'em; 
But he so little knew their use 

I'm sure 'twas not his custom ! 
He took a lesson then of me — 

Though teaching's not my mission — 



l82 WATCHIN' THE SPARKIN' 

And learned it, oh, so rapidly 
I'm sure 'twas intuition. 

"Just take them all !" said I ; 
" Just take them all ! " said I. 
" By taking many 
You'll not leave any 
" For other lads," said I. 



WATCHIN' THE SPARKIN'. 

Say, Jim, ye wanter see the fun ? 

Jemimy's sparkin's jess begun ! 

Git deown — this box won't hold but one 

Fer peekin' though the winder ! 
Yeou stay down thar jess whar ye be ; 
I'll tell ye all thar is to see ; 
Then you'll enjoy it well as me ; 

An' deon't yeou try to hinder! 

That teacher is the dumbdest goose 
That Cupid ever turned eout loose; 
His learnin' hain't no sort o' use 

In sparkin' our Jemimy ! 
Though peekin 's 'ginst the golden reule, 
He told us tother day in scheool 
To watch him close ; so git a steool 

An' stand up here close by me. 

Neow he's got suthin' in his head 
That somehow ruther's gotter be said ; 
Keeps hitchin' up, an' blushin' red, 
With one leg over t'other. 



WATCHIN' THE SPARKIN\ 183 

He wants to do the thing up breown. 
Wall, he's the biggest gawk in teown : 
Showin' her pictur's upside deown ; 
An' she don't know it nuther ! 

He's got his arm areound her chair, 
And wonders if she'll leave it there. 
But she looks like she didn't care ! 

I'll bet he's goin' to kiss 'er: 
He's gittin' closer to her face, 
An' pickin' out the softest place, 
An' sort o' measurin' off the space, 

Jess so as not to miss 'er. 

If she'd git mad, an' box his ear, 
'Twould knock his plans clean out o' gear, 
An' set him back another year ; 

But she hain't goin' to do it: 
She thinks the teacher's jess tip-top, 
An' she won't let no chances drop ; 
If ever he sets in to pop, 

She's goin' to pull him through it ! 

I gum ! an' if he ain't the wust ! 
Waitin' for her to kiss him fust ! 
He's goin' to do it neow er bu'st: 

He's makin' preparation ! 
Neow watch him steppin' on her toes — 
That's jess to keep her down, I s'pose. 
Wall, thar, he's kissed her on the nose! 

So much fer edecation ! 



1 84 THE GOLDEN GATE. 



THE GOLDEN GATE. 

" Yerba Buena " sends a token 
From her garden in the West : 
Blossoms with the stems unbroken, 
Wild ones gathered from her breast; 
And a bit of ocean glory, 
With a peep about the State; 
'Tis a little picture story : 
Gleanings by the Golden Gate. 

Yonder forts that lie a-dozing 
Like old castles by the sea, 
Wonder if they seem imposing, 
What their usefulness may be ; 
With the round shot sleeping under 
Soothing fragrance of the bowers, 
And the cannon, robbed of thunder, 
Being captured by the flowers. 

In such glorious golden weather 
As the seasons with them bring 
You are puzzled guessing whether 
It is summer, fall, or spring : 
'Tis not summer for the reason 
There is no oppressive heat ; 
Nor, indeed, the winter season 
With the flowers at your feet. 

On this glorious land of plenty 
Nature squandered all her art ! 
Charming as a maid of twenty : 
In her smiles you lose your heart. 



THE PRETTY COLLEEN. 185 

Should you doubt the ardent story 
Which the painters here relate, 
Come yourself and see the glory 
Streaming through the Golden Gate ! 



THE PRETTY COLLEEN. 

Every lad in the world has a love in his breast 
For a svvate, pretty lass, and he thinks her the best : 
Thinks her eyes are the brightest, her face is the fairest, 
Her cheeks are the reddest, her lips are the rarest ! 
But there's nothing so charming in life to be seen 
As an Irish lad's love for his pretty colleen. 

O, the pretty colleen ! O, the pretty colleen ! 

She is true to her lover and true to the green. 

And there's nothing so charming in life to be seen 

As an Irish lad's love for his pretty colleen. 

She comes from the land where the green shamrock 

grows ; 
And her breath is as swate as the scint of the rose ! 
She'll be true to ye always, in all kinds o' weather, 
For she gives ye her hand and her heart both together. 
And there's nothing so charming in life to be seen 
As an Irish lad's love for his pretty colleen. 

O, the pretty colleen ! O, the pretty colleen ! 

She is true to her lover and true to the green. 

And there's nothing so charming in life to be seen 

As an Irish lad's love for his pretty colleen. 

O, the pretty colleen wid a smile on her face 
Is a rare opportunity wan should embrace ; 
Whin ye've taken wan kiss, ye'll be wanting another 
To find if the wan would be swater than t'other ! 



1 86 WHEN ONE HEART BEATS FOR TWO. 

And there's nothing so charming in life to be seen 
As an Irish lad's love for his pretty colleen. 

O, the pretty colleen ! O, the pretty colleen ! 

She is true to her lover and true to the green. 

And there's nothing so charming in life to be seen 

As an Irish lad's love for his pretty colleen. 



WHEN ONE HEART BEATS FOR TWO. 

They say I shouldn't flirt ; 
But how else can I divert 
My attention from the lover who has come a-courting 
me ? 
Can I know I love him best 
Save I flirt with all the rest ? 
It is only by comparison we judge a thing, you see ! 
What's a gentle maid to do 
When a lover comes to woo, 
And the heart that used to beat for one alone 
In a throbbing sweet and new 
Then begins to beat for two ? 
For you know a maiden's heart is not a stone ! 

They say I shouldn't kiss ! 
Must I tell my lover this, 
And make him do all the kissing when he's kind enough 
to call ? 
Must I let his kisses go, 
And no sweet resentment show ? 
Or, in case he is too bashful, must I get no kiss at all ? 
What's a gentle maid to do 
When a lover comes to woo, 



YOU'RE ANOTHER. 187 

And the heart that used to beat for one alone 
In a throbbing sweet and new 
Then begins to beat for two ? 

For you know a maiden's heart is not a stone. 

They say I shouldn't marry — 
Not at present ! Must I tarry, 
Putting off until to-morrow what I'd rather do to-day? 
For I think it is so nice 
Just to take one's own advice ; 
And there's so much greater pleasure saying " Yea" than 
saying " Nay ! " 
When such lover comes to woo, 
I'll say yes, the same as you ; 
Then my heart, instead of turning into stone, 
Will begin to beat for two ; 
And I'll find the Bible true : 
That it isn't good for man to dwell alone. 



YOU'RE ANOTHER. > 

O, I'M a regular Irish lad ! 

You're another ! You're another ! 
I take right after my Irish dad ! 

You're another ! You're another ! 
I love that island across the sea ; 
The world is full of its pedigree ; 
Resolved on setting the island free ; 

You're another ! You're another ! 

I wear the shamrock upon my breast ; 

You're another ! You're another ! 
Because it suits my complexion best ; 

You're another ! You're another ! 



1 88 THE TRAMP AND THE CUR. 

Wid me the shillalah is most in vogue ; 
For this they call me an Irish rogue ; 
I want Home Rule wid an Irish brogue ! 
You're another ! You're another ! 

When I was born I was very young ; 

You're another ! You're another ! 
The brogue got fastened upon my tongue ; 

You're another ! You're another ! 
I like the city they call New York ; 
Though I shall ever be fond of Cork — 
The one they draw wid a spiral fork ; 

You're another ! You're another ! 

O, I'm a sprig of the Celtic race ; 

You're another ! You're another ! 
The map of Ireland is on my face ; 

You're another ! You're another! 
When I am dead, there '11 be no delay : 
" Pass through the gate ! " St. Peter will say, 
" And give this Irishman right of way ! " 

You're another ! You're another ! 



THE TRAMP AND THE CUR. 

Hello, ye little wanderin' cur ! 
Don't be afraid I'll hurt ye, sir ! 
Let's get acquainted, as it were: 

Tell us your name. 
What, neither name nor pedigree ? 
Well, I'm about as bad, you see : 
I'm called a tramp ! 'Twixt you and me 

'Tis all the same. 



THE TRAMP AND THE CUR. 189 

Come here, I'll share my crust with you ; 
Enough for one's enough for two ! 
Ye want a friend, and friends are few? 

That's just my case. 
Ye're poor and homely, by the by, 
And somewhat ragged ; so am I ! 
And yet there's somethin' in your eye 

That's not so base ! 

Come right up here, ye little scamp ; 

I wouldn't hurt ye — I'm a tramp ! 

Tell me what makes your eye so damp — 

Have ye some sorrow ? 
What, lost your father ? Needn't whine ! 
And mother, too ? Well, I've lost mine ! 
Suppose we lonely orphans dine, 

And weep to-morrow ! 

At this one meal you'll be my guest; 
Though plain, 'tis easier to digest ; 
Dyspepsia never brings unrest 

To me nor you ! 
We'll be companions from this date — 
Misery always likes a mate ; 
And burdens lose one-half their weight 

When borne by two. 

On velvet cushion by the hearth 
Sleeps many a dog not half your worth ; 
But, since ye are of random birth, 

Mankind pass by ye. 
Having no way to earn a meal, 
You're forced to either starve or steal ; 
Could they but once your hunger feel 

They'd not deny ye. 



190 THE TRAMP AND THE CUR. 

Ye have good right as well as they 
To get your livin' as ye may ; 
For man is but a bird of prey 

That lives by plunder : 
To rob his fellow-man, a creed ; 
Take from the earth more than his need ; 
That he ne'er satisfies his greed 

Is more the wonder. 

Life is one continual cramp 

To you, the cur, to me, the tramp, 

And many of the self-same stamp 

That want our name ; 
For be they human, be they brute, 
Many are in the same pursuit : 
To find for work some substitute ; 

That's just our aim. 

Ye never need be friendless more ; 
Henceforth we'll tramp from door to door, 
Divide each day our scanty store, 

Quite all we need ; 
And if no other wealth we find 
Than bliss of a contented mind, 
The less we'll have to leave behind 

For legal greed. 

A dog on whom ye may depend 
Is better than a faithless friend ! 
Yet pity 'tis man must descend 

Fealty to find ! 
God's noblest oft becomes so base, 
And such a blot upon his race, 
That e'en his dog feels the disgrace, 

And sneaks behind ! 



THE TRAMP AND THE CUR. 191 

Pray do not cringe, nor yelp, nor whine, 
Nor bark too loud when you would dine ; 
But raise that curly question sign, 

Behind ye saggin' ! 
You'll find this maxim never fail: 
Too long a tongue will not prevail ; 
You'll do more coaxin' with your tail, 

So keep it waggin' ! 

And those soft eyes, my little friend, 
Will all your meager wants commend ; 
And thus by pleadin' at each end 

You'll get your dinner ! 
If one no other crime commits 
Than simply livin' by his wits, 
'Tis beggin', which the world permits 

Both saint and sinner. 

Some are with many millions blest ; 
Some earn so little at their best 
That e'en the Sabbath day of rest 

They may not take. 
Enough for all is Nature's plan ; 
Yet in her myriad caravan 
The only miser is a man 

With his muck rake. 

Had circumstance reversed the thing — 
Made you a lapdog, me a king, 
Would we have better cause to sing ? 

Pray look around : 
The earth is ours without its care, 
The flowers, the sunlight, and the air ! 
Oft wealth would give one-half its share 

To sleep as sound. 



19 2 LITTLE ETTA'S COLORED BOY. 

He owns the most who wants the least, 
And learns contentment from the beast ; 
The lesser food the better feast — 

So let us feed : 
Your share of meat and all the bone ! 
Since friendship only may be shown 
For what we are, not what we own, 

We're friends indeed ! 

When age comes on, 'tis sad to know 
We've neither kith nor kin below, 
Nor friend to mourn us when we go 

Where there's no schism. 
Though death is nothing but a sigh, 
We long for someone to supply 
The holy water of the eye — 

Life's last baptism ! 



LITTLE ETTA'S COLORED BOY. 

" May I turn in 'e parlor," asked Etta, rather coy, 
" And bring along my tump'ny, my little tolored boy? 

" His name is tolored Sammy, and somethin' more than 

that ; 
He is so awful sunburnt, betause he's dot no hat. 

" He lives way oder yonder on todder side 'e road, 
Down where you said a rooster at early mornin' crowed. 

" So I went down an' told 'em my mamma was so ill 
That long-tail' hen disturb her by singin' froo hees bill. 



LITTLE ETTA'S COLORED BOY. 193 

" We drove him in 'e torner, an' Sammy till him dead, 
An' den to stop hees singin' hees ma chop off hees head. 

" An' when I asked her whedder hens went to heaven or 

not, 
She laughed an' said : ' Dis rooster I dess will go to 

pot!' 

" Den I brought Sammy oder to div' him all my toys, 
Betause he don't have any like udder little boys. 

" Oder yonder by 'e meadow, where they dot a water 

troff, 
I squbbed hees face so shiny, but 'e black would not turn 

off. 

" What makes him look so tolored, while I'm so very 

white ? 
Was I born in 'e daytime an' he born in 'e night ? 

"Please div' him my big nightie, or tut off one of 

aunt's — 
His shirt is tored so awful ! He's only dot one pants ! 

" You might take one of papa's an' tut 'em off for him, 
An' div' him papa's 'spenders, so's to teep him in." 



1 94 



KISSING. 



KISSING. 

NAY, pretty maiden, be not shy ; 
Perchance I've come a-wooing thee. 
Yon tempting apple does not try 
To turn its rosy cheek from me. 

All nature has a-wooing gone 

Since first the sunbeam kissed the dew, 

Or glory blushed on that first dawn 

When worlds were made and love was new. 

Yon river like a maiden sleeps 
Beneath her nightly veil of mist ; 
Up rosy morning softly creeps, 
And lifts her veil and leaves her kissed. 

The moon doth kiss the earth, and smile, 
Caressing vale and mountain peak ; 
With much more ardor all the while 
Old Sol is kissing t'other cheek. 

About the mountain peaks alway 
Fair maidens cling in vapor dressed, 
And, kissing, blush but once a day — 
When Sol goes wooing down the west. 

Yon star that glistens like a tear 
In lovelorn maiden's soft blue eye, 
Enamored of some wayward sphere, 
Ever pursues him with a sigh. 

The birds up in the trees are cooing 
In harmony, no one can doubt it, 
And seem to have no trouble wooing : 
They kiss, and make no fuss about it. 



KISSING. 195 

The ardent breezes kiss your cheek, 
And, loverlike, with ardor sigh ; 
To them you no resentment speak : 
While zephyrs kiss you, may not I ? 

Pray why were lips so tempting made 
If not to win devotion rare ? 
Must not some penalty be paid 
For being wrought so wondrous fair ? 

And can you blame me that I steal ? 
What though your cheek incensive burn ! 
I, too, would some slight sorrow feel, 
And quick the stolen kiss return. 

Those lustrous eyes but tell me this, 
What modest lips would ne'er impart : 
He does not steal who takes a kiss, 
But makes a curtsey to the heart. 

Since nature plainly holds it just, 
Let nature in you whisper yea ! 
For are we not all made of dust ? 
And you, you are such charming clay. 

The telltale eye is drooping now, 
Till I must bend to gaze therein ; 
Or gaze on lips that do, somehow, 
The sooner tempt me to begin. 

If you should grant me only one, 
I'd hardly know just where to take it 
On face so fair ; and, when begun, 
How long a bliss I ought to make it. 



196 



WHY ROSY LIPS WERE MADE. 



WHY ROSY LIPS WERE MADE. 

As Bessie, blushing, raised her head, 
The handsome fellow archly said, 

Stroking his chin : 
" Pray tell why rosy lips were made ? " 
Said she : " They are the sweet blockade 
Against young lovers who invade 

The heart within." 

" If I the sweet blockade should run, 
Might I not hold the heart I'd won 

By such adventure ? " 
" Not every one can take who tries ! 
But should you take me by surprise 
And close the lips, I'd still have eyes 

Would speak in censure ! " 

" Could eyes like those be so unkind ? 
Then close them up, for Love is blind ! " 

" Nay, that's not true, sir ! 
Can Love be blind, I'd like to know, 
And shoot the unerring arrow so ? 
He sees more in someone, I trow, 

Than others do, sir." 



" And why do cheeks get rosy red ? " 
" I'll tell you why," sweet Bessie said, 

With some emotion : 
" There nature, with consummate art, 
Paints every passion of the heart, 
That burning secret to impart — 

A maid's devotion ! " 



CUPID WENT A-COURTING. 197 

He stole one kiss ! Then two, three, four ! 
And gladly would have stolen more 

Without repenting. 
" You've ta'en my heart ; it must be true 
These rosy lips were made for you ! 
You'd better take the residue 

While I'm consenting." 



CUPID WENT A-COURTING. 

Cupid went a-courting, courting for himself, 
Laid his bow and arrow back upon the shelf ; 
He had done the courting since the world began, 
Making love, but always for some other man, 
Till he met a maiden of such beauty rare, 
Got his bow and arrow tangled in her hair; 
Got in further trouble getting back his dart : 
With her eyes upon him Cupid lost his heart. 
Pretty little Cupid, I'll tell you 
When you're sent a-courting what to do : 
Ever be afraid 
Of a pretty maid ; 
Leave your little heart behind ! 
Gazing in her eye 
Is fatal, by the by ; 
That's the reason Love is blind. 

Cupid went a-courting dressed up like a man ; 
Kissed the maiden often — that's the proper plan ; 
Uttered pretty speeches. Heart got in his throat 
Wings began to rustle underneath his coat ; 
Whereupon the maiden little Cupid knew ; 
Smiling, said : " I cannot, cannot marry you ! 



198 CUPID WENT A-COURTING. 

It is pleasant having Cupid all your own ; 
But a maiden cannot live on love alone ! " 
Pretty little Cupid, I'll tell you 
When you're sent a-courting what to do : 

Ever be afraid 

Of a pretty maid ; 
Leave your little heart behind ! 

Gazing in her eye 

Is fatal, by the by ; 
That's the reason Love is blind. 

Cupid stopped his courting — couldn't stand her " No "; 
Yet the little maiden didn't mean it so ; 
Had he been persistent he had won the maid, 
But with Cupid married Love had lost his trade ; 
Then no other maiden would have felt his dart, 
And no man without him won a maiden's heart. 
Maidens now are grateful for the good old plan 
Which requires a Cupid and a real man. 
Pretty little Cupid, I'll tell you 
When you're sent a-courting what to do ; 
Ever be afraid 
Of a pretty maid ; 
Leave your little heart behind ! 
Gazing in her eye 
Is fatal, by the by ; 
That's the reason Love is blind. 



ANY KISSES WITH THE FOSES? 199 



ANY KISSES WITH THE ROSES? 

The squire is young and handsome, and it happens 

every day 
That he stops to buy a flower as I meet him on the way ; 
And to-day he took them all at any price that I'd agree, 
But instead of looking at the flowers, kept his eyes on me 
Till my cheeks were flushed and burning like the blushes 

on the rose ; 
For the cheek is such a telltale when the fond heart 

overflows. 

Since he was so very generous, I took him at his word : 
" For each rose I'll take a shilling ! Do you think the 

price absurd ? " 
Then he asked me, with a twinkle in his very roguish 

eye : 
" Any kisses with the roses when the roses are so high ? " 
When I told him that my tulips went with every rose he 

got, 
Why, he grabbed me and the basket, saying he would 

take the lot. 

He not only took my roses, but he also took my heart ; 
And his reason was that love and flowers shouldn't 

live apart. 
Then I asked : " When one is faded, will you bring the 

other back ? " 
But he answered in a roguish way by giving me a 

smack ; 
Otherwise he made no answer ; there's a precious reason 

why : 
When the lips are so engaged, you can't expect them to 

reply. 



/ LOVE MY LOVE. 



Precious maiden, take this precept : Would you win a 

lover true, 
Let your life be like the flowers, fresh baptized with 

heaven's dew, 
Fragrant with its many virtues both in sunshine and in 

shade, 
And he'll wear you in his bosom as a rose that cannot fade ; 
And it matters not what blossoms may spring up along 

the way, 
You will always be the choicest flower in his heart bouquet. 



I LOVE MY LOVE. 

My love is not a soldier bold, 

Because there is no war; 

Nor sailor, for the world holds naught 

That he would leave me for. 

My love is not a lawyer, with 

Short briefs and longer bills ; 

Nor doctor, whose prescriptions are 

Much worse than all your ills. 

I love my love with a love that's true ; 

I love my love, but he's not you ! 

My love is not a pauper, no ! 
Nor is he clad in rags ; 
Nor is my love a millionaire 
Who hugs his money bags. 
My lover's not a reverend, 
Whom some folks call divine ; 
He likes mankind in general, 
But loves no soul but mine. 

I love my love with a love that's true ; 

I love my love, but he's not you ! 



CHRIST BLESSING LITTLE CHILDREN. 201 



CHRIST BLESSING LITTLE CHILDREN. 

Pray, gentle stranger, tell me, if you know, 
Is this the spot where Jesus stopped to rest, 
Where heaven and earth met centuries ago, 
And little children were divinely blest ? 

I'd like to stand where little ones were brought 
To Him who, sitting, sandals in the dust, 
The sweetest lesson of the Bible taught : 
That hope of heaven is born of childlike trust. 

There comes from all that sacred history 
No sweeter picture to the human mind 
Than when, with little children on his knee, 
Deity, set in jewels, crowned mankind. 

The trusting mother brought her infant there 
What though the wise disciples oft reviled ? 
Since man's redemption took them in his care, 
Divinity doth always hedge a child. 

And when the Saviour held them to his breast, 
Each babe looked in the face of God and smiled. 
That blessing gained comes down to all the rest : 
Eternal benediction on the child ! 

The Saviour loved them, even though he knew 
Each one by sin might some time be defiled ; 
'Twas nothing more than Heaven ought to do, 
For He was once a helpless, homeless child. 

The mother clasps her baby to her heart, 
With Heaven's glory on its little face ; 
Earth cannot furnish her its counterpart, 
Not though an angel came to take its place. 



202 PRINCE AND SERF. 



The babe comes hither from the great unknown 
Yet no immortal secrets with him come. 
In age, with that same muffled monotone, 
He journeys back again as sweetly dumb. 

When drowsy age sits nodding to the grave, 
The deeds of many years together piled, 
It claims the blessing which redemption gave 
In being once again so like a child. 



PRINCE AND SERF. 

A royal babe is born, a helpless thing ; 

Birth makes him prince and Death shall make him king. 

Another babe is born, a peasant slave, 

With naught to choose between them save 

The fiber of the robes ; naught to convince 

Why one should be the serf, the other prince. 

Exchange the cradles ; send the serf to school ; 

He will be king, and may as justly rule ; 

The prince becomes a serf beneath his rod — 

There is no royalty in sight of God. 

One goes not far along the royal line 

To find himself at some usurper's shrine. 

'Twere easy told, had all an equal chance, 

What's due to genius, what to circumstance. 

Birth fills the world, while Death maintains his calling. 
As old snows melt the fresher snow is falling ; 
Each flake conceived no one knows how nor where, 
And yet so pure it purifies the air. 
Or sifted through the canopy of night, 
Or murky cloud of day, 'tis just as white. 



VICTORIA. 203 

On earth's great bosom gently sinks to rest, 
And falls to nursing while it warms the breast ; 
Abides its season, whether month or day, 
Till by the warmth of heaven dissolved away. 
A blessed faith to all who love the story — 
Man melts away into eternal glory. 



VICTORIA. 

Peerless woman ! Such another 

History hath never seen ; 
Thou, so good, so grand a mother, 

And, withal, so great a queen, 
Victoria ! 

Sovereign of two titles legal, 

Queen and India's empress means 

England holds thee doubly regal 
And the royal queen of queens ! 
Victoria ! 

Now thy children gather round thee, 
While the nation round them clings ; 

Thus with jewels they have bound thee, 
Greatest of a race of kings ! 
Victoria ! 

All mankind salute thy banner, 

And wherever 'tis unfurled 
Greet it in a royal manner ; 

Thus 'tis honored by the world I 
Victoria ! 



204 VICTORIA. 



Out on each sun-gilded ocean, 
Gems of commerce freighted down, 

Thy great ships suggest the notion 
That the earth, too, wears thy crown, 
Victoria ! 

Progress fair, her form adorning 
With thine aegis on her breast, 

Greets the sun at India's morning, 
Woos him down Australia's west ! 
Victoria ! 

Heathen nations wake from dreaming, 

Civilization gives new birth, 
With thy royal banners streaming 

Down the highways of the earth ! 
Victoria ! 

With thy steel, the world surrounding, 
Constantly the sunbeams play ; 

Here retiring bugle sounding, 
Yonder, roll of reveille ! 
Victoria ! 

On the brave thy realm defending 
Never can the sun go down ! 

Hour by hour his rays descending 
Kiss the legions of the crown ! 
Victoria ! 

Earth is girt with population 
Speaking in the English tongue; 

And the God who guides the nation 
Hears one endless anthem sung ! 
Victoria ! 



VICTORIA. 205 



Such a growth to England never 
Came beneath another's reign ! 

Down the halls of time forever 
Shall re-echo this refrain : 
" Victoria ! " 

Fifty years of rule with sages 
As the Queen of Englishmen 

Is a glory that the ages 
Never may repeat again ! 
Victoria ! 

All the nations know thy story ! 

All now join thy "jubilee ! " 
'Tis a royal crown of glory 

That the world bestows on thee, 
Victoria ! 



THE END. 



INDEX. 



Any Kisses With the Roses ? 199 
A Woman's Pocket, 142 
Barefooted After the Cows, 81 
Barnyard Melodies, 145 
" Birds of a Feather," 57 
Brogue I Brought Over the Ocean, 

The, 175 
California Flea, The, 68 
Christ Blessing • Little Chil- 
dren, 201 
Crazy Vet, 49 

Cupid Went A-Courting, 197 
Dame Nature's ' ' Crazy Quilt," 1 1 1 
Deacon and the June Bug, The, 120 
Dead Regiments, The, 167 
Don't You Think So, Bill ? 19 
Elsie Adair, 168 
Ensign, The, 104 
Ferry, The, 119 
Foreigners at the Fair, 62 
Foreign Views of the Statue, 30 
Frog and the Frenchman, The, 84 
Funeral of the Mountains, The, 73 
Ghost of an Old Continent, 

The, 162 
Golden Gate, The, 184 
Grand Canyon of the Colorado, 

The, 167 
Guns, 107 
I Love My Love, 200 



Italio, i6o 

Jealous Wife, The, 53 

Jennie, 75 

John Maynard, 148 

Kissing, 194 

Liberty Enlightening the World, 

97 
Little Church of Hamilton Square, 

The, 144 
Little Etta's Colored Boy, 192 
Little Ned's Wagon, 26 
Little Tim's Tobacco, 33 
Lullaby, 90' 
Miller's Maid, The, 66 
Miracle of Cana, The, 64 
Mother, 95 
Mrs. Flanders, 171 
Murphy's Donkey, 151 
Nancy Hanks, 46 
New Baby, The, 88 
" Oh, Yeh-yus ! " 134 
Old Ace, 1 
Old Eagle, 173 
Old Glory, 44 
Orthod-Ox Team, The, 41 
Paddy Moore, 177 
" Palestine," 15 
Pastor's Wooing, The, 59 
Pat's Confederate Pig, 23 
Pat's Opinion of Flags, 98 



208 



INDEX. 



Pretty Colleen, The, 185 
Pretty Maid of San Jose, 51 
Prince and Serf, 202 
" Remainder of the Year, The," 

35 
" Said I," 180 
Santa Claus, 126 
Shall Bess Come Hame ? 76 
Sheriff of Cerro-Gordo, The, 129 
Sherman's March, 37 
Silly Billy, 116 
Skeleton, The, 102 
Stuttering Bill on the Hen, 169 
Swing, The, 5 



Three Lullabys, 87 
Tramp and the Cur, The, 188 
Two Knights, The, 154 
Uncle Eph's Heaven, 12 
Uncle Ezra's Story, 136 
Wasp at Camp Meeting, The, 91 
Watchin' the Sparkin', 182 
When One Heart Beats for 

Two, 186 
Why Rosy Lips Were Made, 196 
With the Boys, 124 
Yosemite, 113 
You're Another, 187 
Victoria, 203 



THIS BOOK WAS PRINTED BY 
R. R. DONNELLEY AND SONS 
COMPANY AT THE LAKESIDE 
PRESS, CHICAGO, FOR FORBES 
AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. 



" 



DEC 24 1900 



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